


The Hunger Games

by HopeStarMasacre



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeStarMasacre/pseuds/HopeStarMasacre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WOW! It's been long guys, REALLY SORRY but I got so caught up with rehearsals for the school show and finals and HOMEWORK that there was literally no time for anything other than eat, rehearse, do homework, sleep. I mean normally, I have crazy rehearsals but being a lead AND a dancer in the show is always a double whammy that is hard to juggle so sorry about that. If this chapter seems disjointed, it's because I have been working on it for the past three to four months since the last time I posted, so it may be a little weird. Don't worry, I proofread enough to make sure that my first chapter back in the story would be shit so we're good to go!~ I hope you guys enjoy, frequent (as frequent as I can anyways) chapter updates from here on out!~</p>
<p>-Miyou</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Hunger Games

 

_The day is bright, a beautiful clear sky with the puffiest clouds you could ever wish to dream of living on as a child. The sand beneath my 8-year-old self is warm, soft, and molding to my feet. I remember this day well. It was 10 years ago, when I was young and free without a care in the world._

_Before acting like an adult became a necessity._

_Before hunting for fish became a way of life._

_Before taking care of Jemmie because my parents were now gone became a reality._

_I know the only way I could be in this day, this wonderfully beautiful day, is because it’s a dream. Normally, I would forbid myself these wonderful dreams of my life before, but now I all but welcome it. This one little glimpse of pleasure before the long arduous task of taking care of everyone takes over again. Before the bell rings, before I go off to work at the water’s edge, and before I worry about school and homework and dinner…_

_Just focus on the dream._ _I have to remind myself. Don’t think just remember._

_And remember I do. I wiggle my toes around, searching…searching for something I can’t really remember._

_But somehow I still know it’s there._

_That’s when my father comes. Strong and good looking, he has hard features that define his face and character. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a broken nose, square jaw and clear porcelain skin. He’s stunning, and his features light up when he smiles, erasing the face of the hardened young man forced to live in poverty in District 4, fishing everyday with the rest of the workers._

_But today, today my father is happy and he runs toward me, arms open and grabs me, dunking me in the water, into the vast and deep ocean._

_I scream, laughing, as I gasp for air in the undeniably cool water. Most parents would have their qualms about throwing an 8-year-old girl into the tempid waters of the sea, but not my father. My father trained me to move with the ocean, the sea. He taught me to love it, to savor it on my tongue, and feel it as I swam in the water. He taught me to breath, to see with my hands and feet, and hear with the sounds of the fish and the mammals of the deep-water world._

_I come back up, laughing and running at my father, throwing sand at his feet._

_I am happy to see him._

_“Da-ddy!” I cry this as I go back to where my feet were, searching. “Daddy you made me loses my clam.”_

_“You’re clam?” He asks this, smiling and rolling his sleeves up as he kneels to look with me. “Pumpkin, what would you need a clam for?”_

_“For Mommy! It’s her birthday and I found a pearl in a clam, and I wanted to give it to her.” I cry, and then smile when it’s suddenly there, placed in my hands by my father. I laugh and hug him, as he picks me up, and carries me back to our small house, one level with white cement and a red roof made of clay. It’s small, and cool._

_And it’s home._

 

* * *

 

The sounds of the bells arouse me from the memory. As I shoot up in bed, I have to remind myself that it was only a dream, and that father wasn’t around anymore.

 

The asshole.

 

I sighed, placing my head in my hands, not ready for the day. It was only 6 am, but that still was late for me. Usually I was up by 4 or 5. But I guess the town was being easy on their workers today.

 

And then I remembered.

 

_The Reaping._

Suddenly I find it hard to breath as I remember why the gongs were only going off now, why there was no bustling in the streets of merchants and bakers and entertainers. Why Finnick had not come running up the cobble pathway, worried why all the kids weren’t at school and why I wasn’t down at the docks, skipping school for work like always.

 

Today was the day that was, once a year, different from any other day of my life in this world. Today was the mark of the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. A day, after my first reaping 6 years ago, that I was mostly used to.

 

Get up. Get everybody ready, dressed and fed. Go to the town square, pray for someone else’s name to be called, and then go home.

 

I suddenly can’t find any air, in my lungs, in my room. I push open the window beside my bed and stick my head out in relief. The cool morning air wet with the scent of the ocean calms my nerves.

 

_This_ is the scent that I am used to, that I wake up to every morning and the smell I breath in on my sheets before I go to sleep every night. As I hear the waves rock in and out as they pull on the sandy shore, I feel my muscles relaxing, and I feel calm, almost as calm as I had during my dream this morning.

 

Which reminds me…

 

“Zhane! Khor!” I scream, climbing back into my room, slamming the windowpane down and marching out of my room and down the hall to my twin brothers’.

 

The two are just rousing from sleep on their low lying beds, Zhane rubs his eyes while Khorr tries his hardest to act like he hasn’t heard me and is still asleep. But having dealt with this for about 6 years now, I just sigh angrily and march to the covered window, yanking the curtains back and the light from the sandy shore floods in.

 

Khorr shoots up and starts swearing his mouth off, which of course, does not bode well with me.

 

“Seriously, Khor? You do realize if the peacekeepers ever heard you talking that way you’d be beaten for sure. Not to mention Eileana is in the next damn room. Do we honestly want her to repeat those words?” I ask him, hand on my hip, and an exasperated look on my face. I’m not even really mad at this point, Zhane and Khorr’s constant attitudes have done nothing but made me tired, and fed up with dealing with them all the time. Now of course I know how my parents felt before they left.

 

“Well maybe if we _didn’t_ have to get up at the crack of dawn because of you’re constant ‘sneaking around’ everyday I wouldn’t be cussing so damn much.” He says this as he scratches the hair in his armpits, and then wipes his nose on his arm.

 

Right, _I’m_ the problem here.

 

“Just get your asses up and dress in something nice. It’s reaping day for Christ’s sake.”  The old saying passed through my lips unnoticed by the two, but I silently cringed as I said it. After father left, I was told never to say those things again. That people would take it the wrong way, take ME the wrong way should they hear me say something from the old countries of North America, before Panem.

 

I guess now’s the best time to explain myself.

 

My name is Arielle Greene, I’m 18 years old and this is my last year of being reaped. It couldn’t come sooner, the relief of knowing that I’ve made it this far without being chosen for the Games. I know what you’re thinking, how can this girl _possibly_ be from District 4? Well, don’t let the kind demeanor and hard lifestyle fool you; I’m as true to the fishing district as President Snow is to the Capitol. Deep red hair in waves that reaches just below my shoulders, golden brown skin and wide spring green eyes, I match in with the rest of the crowd here. The only difference? My voluptuous body shape, I look like Christina Hendricks, a famous actress from North America, before Panem.

 

 My brother’s are the same, Zhane and Khorr, at the ages of 16 are identical twins, both with long red manes of hair that are usually tied back, the same brown skin and eyes. They are brawny, with strong able-bodies that are ready to fight, just like my father was.

 

Then there’s Jemmie…sweet little Jemmie at 17, with freckles splashed across his face and with orange hair. But this is where my mother’s District 4 traits end and my father’s unknown traits begin. He has pale, porcelain skin just like him, and tiny blue eyes. His smile though, is the most radiant thing about him, and that’s where he’s like my father the most.

 

And then of course theirs Eileana, only 14 and already she’s absolutely beautiful. A short curvy girl with long blonde hair in ringlets, deep emerald green eyes and pale skin. She’s so sweet and lovely.

 

And she’s so terrified of the reaping, I am afraid it’s my fault that she gets paralyzed at the thought of it.

 

The though comes to me and rouses my panicking mother mode, and I run into my little sisters room, and sure enough there she is, just how I expected her to be.

 

She’s curled herself into a tiny ball, knees locked in and rocking herself. I wince at the sight of this girl, usually so headstrong and brave when it comes to the training they teach at the schools here in District 4. But my family has been taught to be scared of the reaping, of the Games themselves, and so it’s my fault that she’s stuck in her room curled up in a ball and having a panic attack.

 

“Oh E!” I cry, and wrap my arms around her; my motherly instinct that I have homed over the years kicks in just when I need it to. At least this is better than Zhane and Khor were their first couple of years. The two idiots tried to escape the house through the window and run off in the woods, like the Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice and they would get away to someplace like the Capitol. But this is still bad, how can my little sister put on a tough act so she’ll be able to fit in with the other District 4 kids if this is how she reacts to the reapings every year? I can already see the torments, telling her to ‘go back to District 12’ just like they told me when I was younger in my first two years of being reaped.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just the reaping, it’s not as bad as the games themselves. And besides, since we don’t really need any tesserae this year, your name will only be in there 4 times. That’s not bad at all! And you’re great with scavenging for food, we know this. You stand a chance, and even if you get reaped I guarantee there will be someone else volunteering immediately after you. It’s not your first year, you know how it is. It’ll be fine.”  But from the horrified look she gives me I know I somehow got the story wrong. And I must admit, it _did_ strike as odd why my sister, having not been reaped two years prior, would be in such hysterics now. And I know what’s about to come out of her lips as soon as she says them, making me feel conceited and uncaring, even though I know that’s not true.

 

“I’m NOT crying because of the reaping Arielle. I’m crying because Jemmie got scared when he looked on the calendar this morning and actually remembered what today was for the first time.” Eileana spits this in my face, angry that I could possible forget the sibling the needed me most, even if he was second oldest.

 

Because in his head he still thinks and acts like a 5 year old child.

 

Because he’s one of 10 kids in all of Panem with the disease Autism.

 

And because he still doesn’t know to the full extent what the Hunger Games means.

“But he gets like that every year sweetie, why are you crying so hard then?”

 

“Because…because I have a bad feeling this year Arielle. A dream. That you and him both got reaped, and went off to the games leaving us all alone.” The anger is gone from her voice, replaced with fear.

 

“Oh sweetie, you know it was a bad dream. How about this, you go back to bed and I’ll make you some hot tea after I wake Jemmie up okay?” As I ask her this, I know it’s not enough. But what else can I do? I can’t promise her that Jemmie won’t get reaped because that would be a lie, his chances of getting reaped are almost as much as mine- 6 for him, and 7 for me.

 

But so far, all of us have been lucky.

 

* * *

 

After everyone is up, dressed and ready, I can’t help but feel the need to leave the house, to be on my own, and clear my head for a little while. I’d leave Jemmie in charge, but he can barely remember the difference between me and mom- let alone the difference between acting like an adult and a child.

 

So, Zhane and Khorr are left controlling the house, and while I know that’s a mistake considering they will do NOTHING but make Jemmie so upset that he starts crying, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

 

I walk out, already in my reaping dress and by the time I reach the square, the boys my age are already whistling. I sigh, roll my eyes and move on, my red stilettoes slipping in the cobbled streets purposefully paved over the sand, before I reach the town of square concrete houses. Most of them are more than one floor, being three or four floors high in the least. This is the rich part of town, where almost everyone else in the District lives.

 

The fork in the road comes sooner than I thought it would, and I turn to the left, heading for the docks that are usually filled with my co-workers, knowing full well that they will be empty today. To the right is the Victors Village, filled with huge tall mansions full of colors and flower beds and everything else you can imagine a fine house needs.

 

The cobbled street that I am walking on soon turns to gravel under my feet, and then altogether the gravel dissolves into the larger sandy beach, with the wooden dock on its end, ships tied to its side. I sit down on the dock and remove the strappy shoes that are so beautiful yet so painful to wear, and put my feet in the warm tempid water, lifting the hem of my red dress up around my knees. I immediately regret the decision, because next thing I know the thigh-high slit springs open, revealing my underwear, and I have to quickly adjust my dress to hide it. The dress was my mothers, her mother was a victor in the 60th Hunger Games, before she died and my mother was back to living a poverty-filled life. The dress is made of red silk, with a thigh-high slit on the left, and a nice V-neck that fits to my figure. This is the only thing I allow myself to have of hers after what happened all those years ago, from when I was just 14 years old, and barely able to fend for myself.

 

My father…he couldn’t deal with the fact that he had given birth to a ‘retarded’ son. So he convinced himself that the son was not his and that his wife had been unfaithful, and strayed to another man while he had been working in the docks during the day. But instead of getting mad and leaving us like he should have, he did something far worse. He became angry, and abusive, spouting drunken words at Jemmie and slapping him, hoping that if he kept teaching him things through pain that he would somehow become smarter. And my mother, being weak, never did anything to stop him, convincing herself that somehow she was the problem. So finally, when Jemmie turned 13, my father realized there was nothing he could do to stop the Autism from making Jemmie different from everyone else. And so he left, just walking out of the house one day and never coming back. I remember it well, two months before the reaping, and my mother just collapsed right then and there, falling apart for a man who didn’t deserve her. And then on the day of my reaping- I went into her room after a bad dream, and she was gone, a note on the bed apologizing and saying that she couldn’t live without my father and had gone in search of him. I didn’t have time to be upset, all I could do was get ready for the reaping and hope not to be picked, and if I wasn’t I would worry about what to do with my new situation later. 6 years later and I still don’t have time to worry about what could happen, because I’m too busy worrying about everyone else.

 

The water is nice on my bare feet, and the hot sun has started shining down on me. I guess I have been staring out at the water thinking of the past for longer than I thought. So when the hands grab my shoulders, the first thing I do is grab the wrists and turn myself around, my bare foot against his throat and his hands turned down, the forearms tight with his muscles straining as I twist his wrists.

 

“Honestly Arielle, if you wanted to get it on, all you had to do was say so.”

 

The condescending tone, the humor in his eyes, and his undeniable good looks slap me in the face, and I roll my eyes as I let my foot down and let go of his hands.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me please introduce you to my good friend Finnick Odair.

 

I know you’re thinking this: How? If she’s so poor, how does she _possibly_ know the great District 4 victor Finnick Odair?

 

The fact of the matter is that his family and my family are old friends, going back to when my mother’s mother was competing in the games. The male tribute was Finnick’s Uncle…well he would have been anyway, and my Grandmother tried everything to keep him alive during the games, but he became sick and died of disease. That was the year that everyone had to beat each other to death, and so food and water were scarce from them moving from hideout to hideout all the time. After that, my Grandmother did everything she could to take care of the Odair family, and because of it Finnick has always helped me whenever I need it. Whether it be covering for the fact that my parents haven’t been into town in years (apparently they are very sick and bedridden with a VERY rare disease from what Finnick has told the peacekeepers.) or the reason that I don’t always go to the school, instead going to the docks to work for money and to catch extra fish so I can smuggle them out for food. (I have had enough training over the years, and since I have ‘excelled’ in the test simulator they put the students into every year to feel like we’re in the games, I am allowed to get away with it.)

 

“Hah! And here I thought you were actually getting serious about someone.” I said, and Finnick was confused.

 

I guess he didn’t realize I knew.

 

“Me? Serious? About who?” he asks this as he sits down, plunging his own feet into the water, and I join him. His open collared shirt shows off his bronze skin, and black dress pants with a nice jacket. For once, Finnick actually looks like he hasn’t been helping me fishing, sweating in the hot sun all the time.

 

“Annie of course.” I say this, and he stares at me, before smiling.

 

“Mags told you, didn’t she?”

 

“Well of course she did, I mean Annie’s games were only a couple of years ago Finnick. Besides, I think it’s kind of sweet, you and her.” I laugh and look up at the sky, thinking that if I had the chance of true love with someone, even if it was someone like Annie, I wouldn’t be afraid to embrace it- and I’m glad Finnick was chasing after it after being alone for so long.

 

“Arielle what are you doing out here? I mean, usually you’re marching around the house, cleaning up spills and screaming at the two identical brats, while still being a kind mother to Jemmie. What happened?”

 

I sigh at the concerned tone of his, and look down at my feet, before looking straight and blowing a stray hair out of my face. Finnick was always too good of a friend for me, no matter how shallow the Capitol makes him out to be, I know who he really is.

 

My friend.

 

“It’s just…Eileana had this dream, that me and Jemmie got reaped this year. And I know that it’s no different than the ones I used to have when I was getting used to being the leader of the family. But when I saw her, so scared at the idea of me being gone, I realized that if I ever got reaped she would try and volunteer without even thinking, and you know that EVERYONE volunteers at the reaping. But theirs also that rule that family gets picked over other volunteers, so even if there were other people trying to take my place, she would still be unlucky and stuck going to the games. And I could never let her do that...”

 

“That won’t happen. You guys are lucky enough that you don’t need tesserae; you’re well off enough that your name is in the bowl, at the most, 7 times. She’s only been in 3 times.”

 

“Yea but what if she gets reaped? What if I suddenly have the problem of dealing with my little sister being at the games and have to watch fight and possibly die and I can’t…” I break off as my voice cracks. Seeing Eileana curled up into that ball reminded me why I hated the games, and feared them at the same time. Suddenly I felt like that abandoned little girl 6 years ago, banging on her friends front door crying and having no idea what to do.” I looked down at my palms, wondering when they had gotten so big and I so much older. Had we really grown up that fast?

 

“Like you said, there will be plenty of volunteers. The best you can do is not let your worrying cloud your judgment, and hope that you’ll be spared for the last reaping you’ll ever partake in. You just…need to stay calm.”

 

I look down, staring at my brightly colored toes.

 

Red looks good against my skin.

 

_But so does blood._

 

My mind reminds me this, and I shake my head. “Yea…You’re right. It’s just really hard, of course.”

 

Finnick punches my shoulder lightly, and I laugh a little bit. But of course, all too soon the town bell rings, the old brass one located at the tall tower right in the town square. It’s near the justice building, and the fact that it’s going off now, at 11, means that the reaping is happening soon.

 

This is the bell that reminds us why we hate or worship the capitol.

 

This bell is the reason that we train in a special school, harder than any other first district schools.

 

This is the sound of the beginning of this year’s Hunger Games.

 

* * *

 

When I walk back into the house, it’s a mess. What looks like food is on the floor, mashed up by stomping feet and pounding fists, which annoys me. It’s bad enough that I skip one day of school for these idiots every week, but Finnick has to go out of his way and break the rules of his being a Capitol victor to help us with scarce food for our bellies. And to waste it? That’s Capitol behavior. Not something that they would EVER learn from me.

 

Then I hear it: A cry.

 

I run to the back of my house, and the back yard, facing the woods that stands before the fence that blocks us from escaping to another district.

 

Zhane is holding up the cage of Jemmie’s precious mockingjay that he keeps for a pet.  He caught it awhile back, running in the woods, and from the way Khorr is smiling and reaching for the lock, the teasing has now gone to full on bullying.

 

I can’t hear what their saying, but as I start running up to stop them, Khorr is about to open the lock when he sees me, and thrushes it open, letting the bird fly away free. I stare at him crossly, and the first thing I do when I reach them is slap them both across the face, before looking at Jemmie.

 

His face is confused at first, be he starts crying soon. He’s upset, and screaming about how he wants his bird back immediately, and all I can do is hug him, trying to prepare him for the reaping.

 

“Stop it!” Is all I can say, all I can coherently come up with. “It’s gone.”

 

The glare from my eyes is enough to make Zhane and Khorr burn into cinders as we walk back inside.

 

I gel Jemmie’s hair up into small spikes and give him a white button down shirt and tan dress pants, paired with simple shoes. Zhane and Khorr wear button down shirts and blazers with jeans, ignoring me the whole way and shoving Jemmie as we walk out the door. I hole his and Eileana’s hands as we walk down the cobbled streets- the same as this morning, only somehow the beautiful sun streaks and shining blue of the ocean seem gray and misty as we walk towards Town Centre- where the victor podium is set up, the two sections for male and females.

 

I see the two tables set up with peace keepers, as teenagers and children of all ages are lining up to get their blood taken, most having a look of glee or triumph as their blood is collected, running up to their friends in excitement as they wait for the reaping to begin.

 

They sicken me.

 

All too soon, Eileana is up next in front of me nervous, scared- the way it is supposed to be. She squeals in pain as the blood is pricked from her finger and processed and gives me a nervous glance back before I give her a nod- she turns to walks to the section with all the other 11 year olds.

 

I’m next, and the peacekeeper forcefully grabs my hand, pricking my finger a little too hard to draw blood. But as always, in a small district where everyone knows each other, being a black sheep doesn’t benefit.

 

I walk slowly to the 18 year old section, sweat dripping down already as the hot ray of the sun clings my dress to my back, people forcefully bumping into me as I make my way to the middle of the section in the back. The oldest are ALWAYS in the back.

 

My heart is pumping, my breath stinking up with nervousness. I feel faint, I feel sick- the sun is too hot as it beams down and my vision blurs a little. I gasp as I remind myself to breath as I look over at Eileana, and see her tapping her foot, biting her lip, playing with her hair- anything to pass the time until the reaping is over. I look back and down at my palms- my hands are shaking violently and are covered in sweat. I think I’m about to pass out when I see the mayor walk on with the victors.

 

I see Mags, Annie, and then Finnick walk on and I take a slight breath of relief that is masked with the adoring sigh of the crowd as they fawn over him. If anyone could help me get through this, it’s Finnick. He smiles and winks at me, and I can see him mouth the words calm down as Evanna Lynch- covered with her  ridiculous trademark purple skin and cat eyes- walks onto the platform. Her smile is phonily white, gleaming along with her crayon yellow hair and crystal rhinestones around her eyes, set against her deep purple skin. Everything about her is nauseating to me, while the rest of the people cheer for her when she walks on.

 

 “HELLO!~” She booms with plastic enthusiasm. “Welcome District 4, to the reaping of the Annual 73rd Hunger Games!~ We have a special video to show you all the way from the Capitol, before this year’s reaping can begin.”

 

She motions to the giant white screen on the side of the stage, and the video starts. President Snow’s voice booms the word ‘War’ and the history of our country begins, taking 4 minutes to explain. Evanna is mouthing the words, while Finnick sits behind her, mimicking her to me and making me chuckle- forgetting for a few moments how serious this actually is.

 

The moment is over way too soon however, and Evanna pops back up with a smile that could curdle even the strongest amount of milk ever with its plastic gleam.

 

“Well! Wasn’t that absolutely SPLENDID! To all the newcomers- welcome to the honorary reaping of the Hunger Games. To all the returners, let’s hope this year you have better odds than last.” Almost everyone chuckled, the parents even laughed and the victors looked at each other and smirked-including Finnick, who pretended all the time as to try and fit in.

 

Only a few people like me looked disgusted, including my sister, whereas Jemmie just laughed along with everyone not really understanding the joke.

 

“Now, now settle down so we can start! As always, ladies first!” Evanna cried with a flourish, and strutted over to the bowl. As per year, every announcer had their own ‘signature’ way of grabbing one of the names. Evanna’s way was always plunging her hand straight down to the bottom and picking the one that was right there.

 

Strutting back to the microphone, I noticed the girls standing next to me nod at each other out of the corner of my eyes. I sighed, every year, even though someone’s name was drawn from the bowl, the teenagers always planned in advance who was actually going to volunteer for the games and try to win. The way they picked, was a series of brawls planned afterschool leading up the games, and whoever made it to the final two and won, was picked to be our tribute. I never participated. Ever. Zhane and Khorr have tried many times but luckily I had Finnick to step in and make sure they didn’t.

 

This year was different; I honestly had no idea who was going to be the official tribute this year. Even if I never participated, I always knew who it was going to be by the week before the reaping. My stomach lurched, as she opened the paper. I knew that even if Eileana’s name was called she still wouldn’t be the tribute- but somehow that thought didn’t make me any less nervous.

 

“Finch Davidson!” Evanna cried, and I sighed a breath of relief-saved, finally out of the games forever.

 

Then, like a huge crushing wave it started- I felt myself be lurched forward as the crowd of girls my age swarmed around me and started pushing me towards the stairs, passing between the groups until I fell hands first on the ground right below the steps to podium, and someone imitated my voice screaming ‘I VOLUNTEER!’.

 

Quiet, Evanna smiled, seeing nothing wrong with the situation- completely used to someone volunteering each year. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a volunteer! Best learn how to walk in those heels with a crowd darling.” Evanna said and winked, as the crowd burst out laughing. I was shocked and sat there sputtering before the peacekeepers picked me up by the arms and pushed me again to stand in front of Evanna.

 

“What’s your name sweetheart?’ Evanna cried over me as I started to say ‘But I didn’t-‘.

 

“Oh don’t be modest, of course you did we all heard you! Now please, what’s your name?” She smiled and pushed the microphone in my face as my eyes widened- completely stunned and numb.

 

“Arielle Greene.” Was all I could stammer as Evanna smiled and clapped her hands together saying “Wonderful, let’s hear it for our female tribute and volunteer, Arielle Greene!” She laughed, as everyone clapped fast and hard smirking at me. I couldn’t do anything but stand on the pedestal with a shocked face as Evanna walked over to the boys bowl, and all I could think was ‘Eileana…Jemmie…what will happen if I DIE?’

 

The plunge was all I heard as the blood was pounding in my ears, papers rustling in the bowl as Evanna reached all the way down. A ‘pop!’ as her hand shot out with a thrust and her heels clacked as she walked back to the microphone. The paper opened and I looked over as Jemmie smiled and waved at me, before seeing my saddened face and looked confused.

 

“Jemmie Greene!” Evanna cried, and all I could see around me was black and Jemmie, brow furrowing at the silence and opening of the crowd around him to let him through.

 

We had both been reaped for the games.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I stared.

Was _no one_ going to help? To volunteer?

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that there hate would go so far as to let someone as mentally challenged as Jemmie to die for a cause he didn’t even know anything about. As he was pushed through the crowd, down the aisle, I couldn’t help but look at Zhane and Khorr.

They were smiling.

“You BASTARDS!” The words were out of my mouth before I could ever begin to think, to try and act neutral and fucking perfect for the capitol and their games. “I can’t believe you would let your own BROTHER die for you!” I grabbed the microphone as the peacekeepers started to respond, to run towards the stage as Jemmie continued to be pushed through the crowd to the podium.

“Zhane! Khorr! One of you VOLUNTEER!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, tears starting to form in my eyes. Please, oh, PLEASE do not let this go through. “VOLUNTEER! YOU ASSHOLES HE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS! PLEASE VOLUNTEER!” I screamed, before the peacekeepers ran up, and tried to drag me into the justice building but I couldn’t- I had to try and fight, a little more at least.  “VOLUNTEER!” I kept screaming, I couldn’t stop but all they did was sneer at me. They sneered- they actually were influenced so much by their father over the years that they actually let the hate of the district wash over them, enough to let their own brother DIE for a useless and unjustified cause.

I gave up, weak, as Jemmie reached the stand. All I could do was mumble ‘volunteer’ over and over again as the peacekeepers dragged me into the building my last view of Jemmie shaking Evanna’s hand before the doors slammed in my face.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was cool, damp and the sweat slowly dripped down my neck as I paced back and forth. The luxuries of the room had barely caught my eye before my nervous mind took over, barely able to stop and appreciate the scale of the room with the ocean designed on the walls, sea green furniture. Everything you would need to sit and relax, but all I could do was pace around in panic. What would happen? Would I die? What about Jemmie?

The thought of Jemmie froze me in place, and I ran over to the window, seeing him being escorted inside the justice building. I didn’t know what to do, seeing his scared and confused face. He was so sweet, so becoming, so _INNOCENT._ Innocence was rare in Panem that sometimes it was easy to forget the harsh world when you were around him. But now, for these games, and in this moment reality is beaming down on me with such force I don’t how I can possibly take it.

Can I even make it through these games alive?

The thought coursed through my head, paralyzing me. Even if I had a small amount of chance, there was Jemmie.  There was always Jemmie. He had always been looming over her, a threat of possibly revealing that their parents were gone, or just getting her into trouble with the peacekeepers. But it never mattered before, as long as he never really got caught doing anything naïve or stupid, he could still be the innocent little child that Arielle loved about him. But now it was dangerous, because in the games anything could happen, that more naïve you were, the easier target you would become.

We weren’t allowed to see any family before we left. While that was a common thing amongst the lower districts, the higher up you got it was looked on as a sign of weakness to ask to see your family before you left for the games.

So, at exactly 11, the justice bell rang above and I felt the vibration, the loud sound of the gong reverberating in my ears. It sent chills up my spine as the door opened, and the wood creaked under the weight of peacekeepers as they walked into the room and touched my shoulder.

“Time to go.”

The walk out into the hall and out the building was quiet, calm with nothing but the sounds of boots slamming into the ground and wood creaking under out weight. I didn’t see Jemmie as we walked out of the back of the building, back onto the cobbled streets, heading back towards the docks. I felt a sense of despair over me: where was Jemmie, if he was reaped, why was he not with me, being ushered like a pack of wild dogs towards the train that would take us to The Capitol.

Too soon we were at the docks, the train somehow seemingly floating above the water. I knew of course, that the rails were high-tech and built to run underwater so that we could ship our fish to The Capitol from the island that was District 4 without problem. But it didn’t cease to astound me, while I have been working at the docks for a couple of years now; I had never myself seen the train that took them away to ship. It was beautiful, big and metal. It gleamed in the sun, not even slightly damp and looked absolutely glorious. Looking at this, I could easily forget The Capitol and all its evil.

The door opened wildly, swishing my hair about, and the air inside the train was cool and calm, and smelled strangely pure and sweet compared to the humid and damp air that I was used to breathing. I climbed the stairs, grabbing onto the railing before jumping from the platform into the train, scared my heels would catch and I would fall. I sighed, the beautiful blue-green rug that was the floor of the train was calming and reminded me of the beautiful sea, I figured that each carpet was different depending on the district.

Just another way for The Capitol to try and make us seem alienated from each other I guess.

The peacekeepers followed me in, and the door shut behind them with a swish. The train lurched forward, and it started moving at a fast speed, and within seconds I couldn’t even feel it.

My heart pounding in my chest, my nervous breath coming back I started to break into a cold sweat.

“W-wait we can’t take off yet, we have to wait for Jemmie!” I said, and a peacekeeper pushed to the right towards one of the doors to move between compartments. The door opened, and I was shoved into a hallway with doors amongst the sides, the peacekeepers continuing to move me forward.

_It’s not supposed to be like this._

“Wait no! Jemmie! I have to see him, make sure that he’s on the train!” I started to stumble, trying to fight against them, continuing to be pushed forward.

“Shut it.” One of them says, and lurches me to the right, shoving me inside a bedroom.

“But…what about my brother?” I cry as they start to walk away, and one of them turns around, all I see is a flash of white blonde.

Porcelain skin.

 A broken nose.

Strong features.

“Don’t worry about him.” The peacekeeper says, before the door closes shut and I hear a click.

I run towards the door, hoping that it would open, but it doesn’t.

_It’s not supposed to be like this._

My breath catches and tears come to my eyes, my air tightening in my throat once again. I’m gasping as I feel light-headed and look around the room in a panic. It’s dull, no windows, with your standard double bed, dresser and nightstand, all grey. Everything’s grey, nothing is bright but the floor- the beautiful floor that’s supposed to be the ocean. The ocean- the ocean is going to swallow me whole, to take us all with it, and with a thrust I collapse on the bed, gasping harder, feeling my heart beat faster. It pounds in my ears, and I’m clutching-gasping for air- as the world around my eyes goes fuzzy, the tears strolling down the side of my face and staining the sheets.

“Jemmie…Jemmie my darling where are you?” I whisper as I start to fade, sleep catching up as the adrenaline and fear that I had running on for the past two hours ebbs away, leaving me empty and numb. “Jemmie” I cry, gasping again. “Jemmie…please where are you, I have to protect you…” I whisper slowly falling asleep.

“I have to…I have to protect you…”

 

* * *

 

_CRASH!_

_The shattering of the glass springs my eyes open, and I shoot up in bed. My hair is in pigtails, it’s hotter than usual outside. The summer, back when I was a little girl, my first reaping soon approaching._

_But I am young, innocent at this moment, and the Games don’t seem scary. They are an other-worldly thing to me, ethereal and un-real. They happen to bad people in my mind, the people who volunteer and the people who get reaped. To young Arielle, everyone who goes to the Games deserves to be there._

_The smell of the sea drifts in through my open window, and I look out, the sky a grey-blue. It was only 6 in the morning, night quite time to get up, but the light in the kitchen was on, shining through the crack underneath my door. I look out at the ocean, the beauty of the dark waves and seagulls are calling to me. I think of the nice ocean and think about calling up Finnick, swimming with him and Jemmie, maybe even catching some beautiful fish to bring home for mom, and eat them for dinner that night. I start to lower myself, lifting the covers my feet touching the cold wood of floor, I open my door and stick my head out, and see the figure of my parents and Jemmie, sitting at the table. Jemmie is trying to write something down, brow furrowed while my father leans over him, annoyed and disgusted. He hated Jemmie, and I couldn’t understand how a man like that could be so gentle and kind to me, yet horrible and black of heart to my brother-his own son. My mother is on the floor scrambling, picking up some pieces and throwing them in the trash._

_The crash I had heard earlier._

_“Come on Jemmie, it’s not that hard. All you have to do is define the word, it’s basic.” My father trying so hard to be gentle. At the time I fell for it, at the time, I honestly thought that maybe deep down he still loved my brother._

_“I don’t understand…” Jemmie mumbled, looking at the paper and speaking slowly. He was pawing at the paper, tracing the word over and over again. Whatever it was, it seemed to be above his level of comprehension, something that he would probably never be able to grasp. “What does…distinct mean?” Jemmie asked, looking at his father, pointing to the word._

_My father’s brow furrowed and he sighed, exasperated, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, mouth going taught with impatience. “Jemmie we’ve been over this a THOUSAND times! I can’t tell you what it means because YOU have to tell ME!” He cried, and Jemmie shivered looking back at the paper in confusion, studying it once again._

_“Darling please, you’ve been doing this with him for over an hour-maybe, maybe if you played with him a little or changed the word around then-“_

_“Shut it!” My father cried, annoyance clear in his tone. “It’s your fault that he’s like this, you know. With your stupid babying of him. Come on Jemmie define the word, it’s not that hard. When I was your age I already learned half of these words and more. Why can’t you be more like your sister, huh? Your sisters fucking perfect- and you’re fucking RETARTED that’s what you are. Stupid kid can’t even tell a spoon from a fork for freaks sake.” He mumbled, combing back his blonde hair, his crooked nose more visible._

_“What’s retarted?” Jemmie asked, looking at my father curiously._

_He turned to Jemmie and glared at him. “NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS WHAT THAT WORD MEANS” He grabbed Jemmie’s head and shoved it hard so that his nose was an inch from the paper. “NOW DEFINE THE GODDAMN WORD YOU LAZY, DUMBASS.” He cried and let his hand go, studying Jemmie as Jemmie looked over the word once more._

_There was a sniffle, and suddenly a huge drop fell from Jemmie’s eye and stained the page._

Big mistake.

_“What are you gonna CRY? You can’t even concentrate enough to try and define ONE simply fucking word, and you’re gonna CRY? That’s rich that just…that’s fucking ridiculous. YOU DISSAPOINTMENT!” My father cried and shoved Jemmie’s shoulder before dragging him off the chair by the arm. “STOP CRYING YOU BABY!” He screamed in Jemmie’s face, raising his palm up in the air._

_“Darling no, oh darling please not this early- you’ll wake up the other children. Please.” My mother pleaded and my dad yelled ‘Shut up!’ over his shoulder at her, before turning back to Jemmie who was now sobbing._

_“I said STOP CRYING!” He screamed before slapping Jemmie hard across the face, and letting go of him Jemmie staged, clutching his cheek and backing against the wall._

_“Daddy no!” I found myself running down the hall, standing in front of my brother as my father approached him again. He was so big, muscular, at the time I still had no idea how to take on someone twice my size, especially since I was still so little._

_“Arielle…move out of the way, I know what it looks like but you’re brother-he deserves this. It’ll make him smarter.” My father said, and approached again. I looked over at my mom, scared, but all she did was look petrified herself and mouthed ‘move’ to me. All she could do was stand there, looking stupid and I couldn’t help but hate her in that moment for never doing anything to protect Jemmie._

_I looked back at my father, his strong features usually so sweet pulled into something worthy of the games that were so un-real to me, like someone about to kill a weaker tribute from one of the lower districts._

_“Daddy please no, he can’t become any smarter because he’s born this way.” I found myself staying, plucking courage from somewhere I didn’t know I had, and looking my father straight into his haunting ice-blue eyes._

_“Move.”_

_“No…please don’t daddy-“ I said and then I felt my shoulder being wrenched aside, and my face hit the wooden floor hard. It hurt, there was a ringing in my ears and everything was blurry. Before I blacked out, I could barely see the figure of my father beating Jemmie once again and my mother yelling at the kids to go back to bed as Zhane, Khorr and sweet little Eileana ran into the room._

_That was the first time, I had truly been exposed to the evil my father was capable of._

* * *

 

When I opened my eyes, I saw a clear blue sky, cloudless and sweet, and for a moment I thought I had maybe dozed off on the shore of the beach and was now waking up. But then the reaping and the memory I had just relived in my dreams came crashing down on me like a huge tidal wave during high tide, numbing my body and causing the sadness to wash over me all over again. I sat up, my joints cracking from sleeping sideways on the bed all night. I quickly found the remote that showed scenery on the ceiling and shut it off, quickly replacing it with just another grey wall, like everything else in this room.

My eyes were caked with makeup, my nose and throat were completely stuffed with snot from all the crying, and my breath tasted as bad as my armpits smelled. I looked down at my dress, running my hands through the smooth silk, and suddenly I hated it. I threw the dress over my head and onto the floor, anything to get out of it.

The dress was ruined.

I rummaged through the drawers of the dresser until I found a simple green shirt and tan pants, and I decided to take a shower before changing. As the beautiful water pressure beamed down on me, it helped clear my mind a little along with the grime and tears and sweat from yesterday’s events, but I still couldn’t get Jemmie off my mind and hoping that he was okay and on this train somewhere, safe.

I quickly chilled- _safe?_ Since when was a train taking us to a competition in which we would have to fight to the death safe?

The possibility that my mind had actually thought of this train and all its Capitol luxuries scared me, and I quickly got out of the shower. I suddenly saw how easy it was to forget, to get caught up in all the superficial things that The Capitol had to offer and ignore the reality of the world of Panem and the games. I placed my hand on the hair dryer, and brushed my teeth. As I looked in the mirror to put my hair up, I didn’t recognize what I saw.  My cat-like eyes that were usually so bright and energized were a duller green than normal, dark bags underneath them. My bronze skin was lackluster and less warm, and my heart-shaped lips were pale and chapped from all the tears that had soaked them. But at this moment, Jemmie appeared in my mind once again, clouding my thoughts, and I decided that I could give a damn about appearances: Evanna could yell at me all she wanted, my brother was more important.

I walked towards the door, and this time it automatically opened. I had forgotten the train, the movement of it and the slow hum it made as the wheels moved around on the tracks. I had no idea where I was, or even where to start looking for my brother let alone Finnick.

_Finnick…_

I paused, in all my worry I had completely forgotten my best friend, suddenly thrust into the world of mentoring me to try and help me survive.

To help me make impressions.

He must be as worried as I am, I think to myself and it comes to my mind that if anyone had or knew where Jemmie was , it would be him.

The breakfast cart was huge. Vastly beautiful with tapestry all over the walls, and tables and tables filled with foods of all types that I had never even seen. The drinks were all sorts of colors, in bottles so sleek and modern it took my breathe away. The mahogany wood of the dining table was breath-taking with the gorgeous chandelier hanging over it. It was here finally, that I found Finnick and the other mentors sitting down to breakfast. They were all so calm, collected, laughing and talking about anything but the games. I knew better of course, at least half of them were simply pretending while trying to avoid the thoughts of their games and the crimes they had committed as long as they could. I scanned the faces that I knew: Evanna, Finnick, Mags, Annie and finally I came to rest of sweet Jemmie. He was spreading jam on some of his bread with a knife, concentrating hard not to spill anything. I smiled, and found myself breathing a loud sigh of relief.

It was then that everyone noticed me and looked up, their eyes concerned, others filled with hatred. Like I had said earlier, small town is not a good place to be a black sheep.

“Arielle!” Jemmie cried, getting up and ran over to me. Though he was twice my height, he still enveloped me in a child-like hug, holding onto me tight. “You’re here! I asked where you were- Finnick said that we weren’t allowed to see each other straight away because of what happened yesterday. Ari, look do you see all this amazing food? It’s like we’re rich!” Jemmie cried smiling, and Arielle gulped, reminding herself that it was not Jemmie’s fault he simply couldn’t discern between the reality of the situation and what The Capitol wanted him to see.

She smiled phonily at him, tired and hoping it didn’t look as thin as she thought it was. “Yes, I see. I bet it tastes as good as it looks! Let’s sit down.” I said, and he pulled my hand, sitting me down across from him. Finnick looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and he looked worry.

“You okay?” He mouthed and I nodded slightly.

It wasn’t a complete lie either, I was doing the best I could.

After all, it wasn’t just me I was looking out for.

 

* * *

 

 

When breakfast was done and Evanna gave us the schedule, that we were ahead and would be to The Capitol by tomorrow, Jemmie and I decided to explore. It was easy being with him, forgetting where we were and what was happening for the time being. It was good, it gave me some peace of mind, letting me act like a child as we ran all around the train through different rooms, playing childlike games. It wasn’t until the sun was setting that we stopped, sitting in the last compartment and looking out the glass seeing the sun turn a beautiful golden-orange. It was peaceful, we could see the world move past at a warped speed, the trees and everything passing us by making it seem like we were standing still in time as the world moved fast all around us. Eventually Jemmie fell asleep, his head in my lap. I was leaning back, stroking his hair, and watching the TV. I knew I would need to eventually, and so I was watching all the reaping’s from ever district this year, expect my own. There were so many people, and so many volunteers, it scared me more than I thought it would. How could I protect Jemmie and fight that many people at the same time?

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

His voice startled me, I hadn’t even noticed Finnick come in and it gave me a quick start. I made sure my jumping up hadn’t woken Jemmie, and it didn’t.

“Beautiful?” I asked, not understanding. He of all people knew that the reaping’s were anything but beautiful.

“The view.” He said, pointing and I looked over my shoulder, laughing as he chuckled quietly himself too. Finnick looked groomed for once, his bronze hair combed back, a green sweater on and standard pants. He sat down next to me, and touched my shoulder. The concerned big brother was back, and I was grateful for someone taking over all the weight on my shoulders, even if it was only for a little while.

“How are you doing?” The standard question was out of his lips, his green eyes concerned and furrowed, lips pursed.

I looked down, staring at the innocent face so calm and somehow able to sleep through this nightmare. “As best as I can.” The standard reply was out of my lips so quickly, I didn’t even realize that I had spoken.

“Yea…I’m so sorry Arielle. I saw what they did.” He touched my shoulder again, and cleared a stray hair out my face. I nodded, unable to look up from Jemmie.

_He was so peaceful._

“I can’t believe Evanna allowed it…” I mumbled, my throat thick. I had to look out the window, at the beautiful starry sky. I couldn’t look at Jemmie anymore, the memories of Zhane and Khorr suddenly plagued my mind again. It was funny, because I hadn’t even thought of them since the reaping.

_How COULD they…_

“I know…but that’s the way The Capitol works I guess.” He glanced at the screen and saw the program paused to the end of the reaping of District 12. “Any threats?” Finnick asked. While neither of us really wanted to talk about it, it needed to be done. They would already be to The Capitol by the time they woke up tomorrow morning.

“Just the usual, Districts 1, 2, 5, 6, and 7. The others barely seem to know how to do in hand-to-hand combat , let alone use a weapon properly.” I said this, and I couldn’t believe the own words coming out my mouth.

_I don’t want to be this person, not yet!_

“Typical games then….” Finnick mumbled before getting serious. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, making me turn to face him. It was only then I noticed how strung out Finnick was, just as much as me. His eyes were red rimmed, and it looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. His eyes were hard steely, unusual compared to his naturally light and flirty tone. “Arielle…I know you’re not ready, but we need to talk strategy.”

“Finnick.” I protested, but I was shushed immediately.

“I won’t go too in depth, not until after the initial victors parade but I want to say something. This whole nice girl next door thing that you naturally have, it’s not going to help in the term of sponsors. They want someone headstrong and beautiful, someone they can look up to. Someone they would want to be.”

I furrowed my brow, worried. “What are you trying to say Finnick?”

“I’m saying…” He sighed, knowing that whatever he was going to say next was going to upset me, and I already had a small idea of what it was. “I’m saying that from now on, when we portray you to The Capitol, and especially the other victors I want to play up something that you never play up. Your wit, charm, and most of all- your sex appeal.”

I opened my mouth in shock a little bit, feeling angry but at the same time I also knew that in a way, he was right.

 

* * *

 

 

The covers were warm, and the smell of the sea was still in my nostrils when I woke up the next morning. The clock on my stand read 7 am, and I knew that in an hour we would be there. My heart was pounding lightly as I got up, heading into the bathroom and showering once again. Though this time, the water did little to clear up my thoughts. All I could think about was what Finnick and I had talked about last night.

_They want someone headstrong and beautiful, someone they can look up to. Someone they would want to be._

The words rang in my head, disgusting me. The Hunger Games was just as much beauty pageant as it was sending us to our deaths, and it sickened me.

Breakfast was dull, all I could do was stare out the window as everyone made small talk with Jemmie and Evanna babbled on and on about how naturally beautiful I was and that would help in the name of sponsors.

_I hate her._

Too soon, it was 7:40 and Evanna announced that we were pulling into the station soon before she winked at me and told me she had laid out something special for me in my room and that I was to put it on before we got off the train. I looked at Finnick in despair and he nodded, and I realized that the outfit must have been his idea in helping me play up my looks.

When I stepped into the room, I immediately wanted to burn the clothes, but I knew that in the end that they would only help in my chances of survival. After I put it on, I studied myself wearing it in the mirror. The top was a deep purple tank top that showed off much more cleavage than I was comfortable with, the curve of boobs popping out of the top, being pushed up even farther by the black belt fashioned right underneath them. The pants were black and skinny, clinging to my legs and accentuating my curves, with knee-length black boots and heels on them, making me look tall. Evanna came in after I was dressed and did my makeup and hair, so that it was down and in waves framed around my face, the makeup light with nothing but blush, eyeliner and lipstick. It made me look intense, sophisticated and sexy, just like Finnick had wanted it to be. All too soon the train stopped and Evanna clapped her hands gleefully. She was like a clone, a typical Capitol girl: preppy, and alien-like, completely disconcerting.

She grabbed my hands and dragged me to the door that I had first used when entering the train only two days before.

_Has it really only been that long?_

I tapped my foot nervously, Evanna babbling to me about manners and making impressions, Finnick nodding at me as he brought Jemmie along. Jemmie stood next to me, me actually being up to his shoulder for once in these shoes, and I grabbed his hands and squeezed it as the door opened.

The air breezed into my face smelling alien, clean and artificial, the sun glaring for a few seconds so that I could not see anything but bright light. All I could hear was the cheering crowd celebrating our arrival, everyone clapping and calling out to us. I could hear their bubbliness in their voices, and I knew.

We had arrived.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The crowd was massive, and completely all-encompassing. The citizens of The Capitol were there, in all crazy shapes and forms looking like strange aliens from another dimension. The colors were off the charts, so many different shades of red, blue, orange, purple, pink and more. Evanna looked like a common girl compared to some of the other citizens that Arielle saw. As she was ushered out of the train by the peacekeepers and into a private rail car, she couldn’t help but gape at them through the window as they pointed and stared, laughing, some men pretending to swoon over her and other were waving. In the moment, Arielle couldn’t help it- somehow with these people it was contagious, but she smiled and waved back until her mouth hurt. They quickly pulled into a long tunnel before coming out again and she couldn’t believe what she saw.

The Capitol was a hustling and bustling city; everything was made out of white stone, the buildings as tall as the sky, looking limitless and intimidating. As they rolled down the street she more citizens walking around, as brightly colored as the others, some were shopping, others were walking dogs or even hanging out with friends. No one was working, or starving, no beggars on the streets. There wasn’t a fight to be seen, a grungy area of the city where underground deals went down. Everyone here was as happy as they seemed, and Arielle couldn’t help but be intoxicated by it.

“Where are we going now?” She asked Finnick and he looked over at her. Annie had been mumbling to herself for a few minutes now, and Finnick had been looking at her worried, whispering what were no doubt sweet nothings in her ear.

“To the building where you’ll be housed with the other tributes until the games. Once we get there, the stylists will get you and Jemmie ready for the Tribute Parade tonight.” Finnick said, he sounded lackluster, distracted, still concerned as to what was going on in Annie’s mind.

“It’s going by so fast…” Arielle mumbled to herself, looking back at the window, grabbing Jemmie’s hand. Arielle couldn’t help but smile as Jemmie ooh’d and aah’d at all the buildings, finding them fascinating and pointing at different ones asking what Arielle thought they were. It was a fun guessing game, a distraction to the earlier thought of how everything was moving way too fast, a pace that scared Arielle more than anything. It already seemed like it had gone by in the blink of an eye, and she didn’t want to get to that arena any sooner than she had to.

All too soon the travel was over, and they pulled up in front of the building. It was different than the rest; it was intimidating and glossy, covered in nothing but windows on each floor it seemed. There wasn’t too much traffic going into it, and peacekeepers were guarding every entrance, making sure no unwanted visitors even tried to enter the building.

“Move.” A peacekeeper barked behind her and Jemmie, and the voice sounded familiar, like she had heard it somewhere before. It was the blonde one again, with the broken nose, but he was much older than the person that Arielle could have possibly thought that he was. Besides, in moments of sadness sometimes people often thought of things that weren’t really there, right?

The building was cool, a reception desk in the middle before a long hallway leading to an elevator shaft. Arielle saw no one, to her; the building could have easily been another Capitol office building that was nothing out of the ordinary. But Arielle knew from Finnick that they scheduled it so that no tributes would see each other in person until the Tribute Parade, a confidence booster and a scare tactic at the same time, it was smart thinking on the president’s part Arielle had to admit. The elevator ride was quick, you barely even knew you were ascending except for the number of doors you saw passing right in front of your eyes. The doors shoomed open somewhere around floor 21, and they stepped out. Finnick sighed turning to face both Arielle and Jemmie in front of a door Arielle assumed they were going to go into.

“This is where the mentors leave you. You’re stylists and prep team are inside, ready help prep you before the Tribute Parade. We’ll see you later.” Finnick nodded, before they all walked off. He seemed so cold, and I saw him grab Annie’s hand as they walked back to the elevator. Of course, he was still worried.

He was always worried.

 

* * *

 

 

The people working on me are the oddest people I have ever met. I had heard from Finnick himself that the stylists were ‘characters’ as he called them, but they were more than characters. They were other-worldly beings, if they lived in Panem, it was a completely different one than that of I was living in.

I was currently lying down on a table, completely naked, as the three of them poked and prodded my skin. They were all like Evanna, strange names, strange looks. One of them, Scarlette-Rose, seemed to take her name literally, trying to fashion herself like a delicate flower. Her skin was a light, tasteful pink, her hair red, grey eyes, and she donned herself in nothing but light pastel pinks and white makeup. She spoke in a light, airy voice that sounded more like a whisper than it was actually there, with her strange Capitol accent making her seem more like some strange fairy type than an actual person.

“Ow!” I cried as the other woman, Velvet, poked my boobs with full force so that they bounced and actually slapped me in the face a little bit. “Was that _really_ necessary? Their big, I know.” I cried angrily, feeling violated. Even if these people seemed more like ethereal beings than real people, it was still weird to be sitting in front of them naked; as they touched me in places I would rather not be touched.

“Are those real?” She asked me, staring me dead straight in the eye. She was completely orange, in a nauseating sort of way, with gold-colored tattoos designed all along her eyes, neck, arms, and her legs. She had green eyes contacts on that made her eyes look huge and designed with blue veins. She currently had glasses on that made her eyes even more magnified, and it freaked out, seeing the veiny pattern so up close and in my face that I had to look away.

I hated veins.

I hated gore.

And now I was going to the games where I would be forced to face, and participate in all of that head on.

“Do I _look_ like I can afford plastic surgery?” I asked, cuttingly, glaring at the bright wall, wishing they could get this over with and just hand me off to my stylist. I didn’t know why they were studying me and not actually doing anything, ripping off all my body hair or something like that.

“They’re just so…perky!” Velvet cried, poking them again so that they jiggled once more and I glared at her before looking away again.

Those _eyes…_

“I’m not comfortable with you doing that so PLEASE stop.” I said. I glared around as she giggled and poked some more, Scarlette still walking around and studying me. There was another back turned to me, fiddling with some of the tools on the table next to us, and I had half a mind to think they were torture tools. She sighed, calculating, before turning around to face me.

I was shocked, chills went down my spine. Unlike the others she was much older you could see, and all her plastic surgery had caught up with her. Her high cheekbones were sharp, her lips and eyes too big, her nose completely straight and perfect. She was cold and hard, with paste-why skin and completely black eyes, her hair dyed a white blonde so pale that you weren’t even sure it was there. Her makeup was completely black, intense, including her lips.

“Enough.” She said; her voice was cold, low. It was like steel blade, cutting into the air, making the other two silent and stop prodding me. Her name was Silka, and I saw her holding a syringe, drawing a gold liquid from a bottle before putting the bottle down and facing me.

“We’re going to inject some gold highlights into your skin Arielle. Tigris likes your skin color but thinks that the gold will complement the bronze very nicely, like you just stepped out of the ocean and the sun was gleaming off your wet body. It’s going to hurt and you’ll feel it spread throughout your body, but once that’s done you should be fine.” She said all this, and before even giving me time to prepare the needle was plunged into my arm.

I gasped and groaned, grabbing onto the rail of the bed as I felt the cool liquid spread through my veins, everywhere in my body. I bit down on my lip as the syringe was pulled out and the liquid settled all over with a burning sensation and then dissolving. I sighed, looking at my skin and seeing tiny little specks of gold reflecting from the ceiling light. I looked healthy, vibrant, and I couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a sense of satisfaction in seeing that my skin looked this pretty and no one else’s’ did: I guess that’s what all the other Capitol citizens felt as well.

“Hose her down.” Silka said, and in an instant I was gripped from the table and plunged into a bath, four times, each one thick and congealed: some kind of moisturizer was in the liquid and after each bath they scrubbed and scrubbed, removing the hard thick layers of my skin that were dried and covered with callouses.

Being waxed was like having your feathers plucked right before being cooked so that people could eat you for dinner. I felt like a live turkey, as they placed burning-hot wax strips in every single area of my body and snapping them off with a flourish until I was completely hairless. My nails were filed, my teeth were whitened in a very painful procedure involving some form of blue light and cleaning system. It was an arduous process, with the three of them grabbing me and running me around like some pet they were getting ready to participate in some form of show.

But then again, I guess I was.

Finally it was over, and I stood in front of them once again, completely naked as they had me turn around while they ooh’d and aah’d at their ‘work’.

“You know, even with the body hair, you were quite beautiful. But now, you’re absolutely stunning!” Scarlette cried this and smiled, looking so innocent and naïve I couldn’t but smile back at her a little bit. It wasn’t her fault in the end, after all if I had grown up here, who’s to say I wouldn’t be the same?

“Tigris is going to love you! Don’t you think so Silka?” Velvet asked, bouncing on her feet. I began to get a sense that bubbliness was a part of her overall nature.

“Yes…” Silka muttered, still studying me over. She stopped staring at a small area on my eyebrow. I didn’t know what she was doing, until she had the tweezers in her hand and plucked final piece of hair. She put the tweezers down, studying me over again before actually smiling.

It was terrifying.

“Now you’re perfect. Put on a robe, Tigris will see you now.” She said, thrusting a blue silk robe at me. I hastily put it on before following her across the room until there was a door. It opened for us, and she told me to sit and wait for Tigris to come, before exciting.

Finally, I was alone. I sighed and examined my surrounding, wondering how Jemmie was doing right now. I hoped he wasn’t getting nearly as much as I had gotten done, I didn’t think that he could handle that sort of pain.

The room was bright and airy, and the wall to my left was completely windowed so that I could see out into the capitol. The walls and veiling were completely white, while the furniture was all different colors. Green rug, two plush red couches and a blue glass table. There was a door on the other side of the room, and I assumed that was where Tigris was, getting ready.

I sat, walked around, even pouring myself a drink before looking out the glass wall. The people outside looked so happy, socializing, having fun. It was a world like I had never even seen before, and I wondered why all the districts couldn’t be like this.

“Enjoying the view?” A voice, female, purred this behind me and I turned around in shock. Tigris was finally here, and I immediately understood why that was her name. Her nose has been reduced to a small state, practically flat and she had black cat whiskers along her mouth, thin and long. Her eyes had been surgically altered to look wide and like a cat- but whereas mine were natural, hers were grotesque and purposefully put there. She is wearing yellow contacts, like those of a cat I had seen wandering the streets back home.

“Let me see.” She purred- her voice naturally low, and I see that he had probably had some form of surgery to where she was able to make cat voices with her own throat.

I stripped off my robe, and Tigris slowly walked around me, and I could as she turned that she had a long spotted tail attached to her, which swished in excitement as she studied me.

She walked back over and sat down on the couch opposite the one I had been sitting on and gestured to it. I hastily put on my robe, and sat down, although it was starting to get easier to be naked in front of these ‘people’.

Tigris pressed some form of button on the bottom of the table and it opened, platters upon platters of food rose up and settled, before the table closed again. Tigris immediately grabbed for some raw fish, eating it with her hands. I guess she took being a cat more seriously than I thought.

“Eat.” She purred when she noticed I had not picked up anything, and so tentively I picked up a bread and fish platter, starting to eat. The fish tasted different here, it was the same as the kind we caught back in the district but covered in so many sauces you couldn’t even taste the fish’s natural flavor, and it made me feel a little sick.

“You’re quite pretty you know.” Tigris said, staring at me, watching me eat.

I stared at her dumbfounded. Wasn’t this the part where she told me her strategy?

“So…what’s the plan?” I ask her, and she stops. She seems interested in some form, surprised that I’m even asking for her advice. I realized that most of the other tributes must not even ask her what she’s planning, just tell her what they think she should do and expect her to carry it out. That’s what happens in the higher-up districts, your strategy is already laid out by the time you’re 8 years old.

“I’m surprised; usually everyone from your district already has an idea of how they want to look for the parade.”

“Well I’m not like the people from my district.” I said, this cold, and stared at her long, finally before looked away and sighed.

“Well I have to say, looking at you now, I have one idea. But I don’t know how well it would work for your brother, with you two being different skin tones and all.

“What is it?”

“You know in the old books of lore, the ones they teach you when your very young in school and they briefly talk about the world before Panem?”

“Yea…?” What is she getting at?

“Well in these old stories, they talked about aquatic creatures that were half man and half fish, they were called mermaids. Or merman if you were a man.” She took another bite of fish and I glared at her, urging her to get to the point. “Anyway, there was an illustration of one in these books and seeing you, it reminded me of it. Now mind you, we can’t really send you out wearing a tail while you’re on that cart, you’ll fall to your death. What we can do though, it try and make you look like one on land, another illustration they had in the book.” She leaned back, folding her arms and her tail resting on her lap. She looked pleased with herself as she gave me time to mull it over.

Mermaids?

_Well it is related to the District._

“What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

The area bay is filled with nothing but the smell of horses, hay, and the other tributes. They are all nervous, some of them trying to show off, others not saying a word. A few actually seem to be socializing with each other, or trying. It doesn’t work of course, we’re here to make impressions, to try and beat each other before we even enter the arena, in the hopes of giving ourselves a higher chance.

Making friends isn’t exactly number 1 priority on the list.

I star down, wondering if this will work. The dress is blue, completely shimmery with crystals. The dress has an ombre design, the blue getting deeper as the dress gets longer, looking like I just stepped out of the ocean and was immediately wearing this dress. That was Tigris’ whole plan of course, and it didn’t cease to amaze me as to how she got all this done within the last couple of hours.

My makeup was light, light red lipstick and natural eye shadow was all that I was wearing, my hair down and brushed, letting the natural waves take over.

A breeze blew past, and I quickly held down the front of my dress. It stopped just above the knees, the back continued down onto the floor. The breeze finished, and I my dress settled. I heard a few whistles behind me and I turned to glare, when I saw her.

She was tall, blonde and skinny but still had enough of a figure to be noticeable. She was staring at me, completely transfixed, mouth open. I felt bad, awkward and blushed as she looked down. She was completely naked and black, covered in what I guess was supposed to be coal dust. I felt bad, I recognized her as the girl from 12. Whoever her stylist was, they weren’t going to help in getting 12 a head start in the sponsors this year.

She stopped staring, and started walking forward. My brow furrowed as she approached, I didn’t really understand her thinking, was she trying to make alliances with me?  I couldn’t afford to try and make any right now even if I wanted to; I had Jemmie to think of. And even if I did, she definitely wasn’t a person I would consider, let alone pick.

“I’m sorry for staring. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, I’m not-“ She started but I looked at her and cut her off.

“It’s fine.” I say it curtly, looking around at everyone else. The other tributes are staring- why are the mermaid girl and the 12 girl socializing?

“I just…you look like someone from my district. I didn’t know anyone else looked like her…I thought it was just, you know, an anomaly.” She looks into my eyes, her eyes a cold blue-grey. I couldn’t tell, was she lying? But the idea that she was possibly trying to draw me in and make me feel close to her was absurd to me, she looked to be only 14. She seemed so innocent and young, and I think trusting at the idea that I looked like someone she obviously knew.

“Everyone looks like me in my district so how could she…I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask this, my brain starting to make a connection.

_A woman who looked like me, in a far off district where blondes are the normal genetics? I couldn’t help but think…_

“I’m the girl from District 12, Crystal Jennings.”  She smiles slightly at me, holding out her hand to me.

“Arielle Greene, District 4.” I say it seriously, warming up to her a little bit, shaking her hand. “How do you know this woman?”

“She’s the town’s healer, everyone knows who she is.”

“How did she get that job?” I ask this, my suspicions growing stronger.

_Woman who looks like me, in a district where my father’s genetics seem to be commonplace…_

“She wandered into town a few years back, and since she had healing skills they put her to work. No one really knew why she had run from what I guess was your district. She mostly keeps to herself.” Crystal says this, before looking at me worried as I felt my brow furrow and I started to stare past her into space, my breath catching.

“Are you okay?”

“Yea…yea…what’s her name?” I ask, staring at her, breathless.

“Um…Genevieve.” She says.

I gulp, my heart pounding in my ears as my fears became reality.

Mom

* * *

 

_“Mom?” I ask, standing in the doorway of her room._

_I am 12 again, confused and scared at the scene that had just happened before._

_“Mommy, are you okay?” I ask this and step further in the room. The lights are off, the room is a dark grey. My mom sits motionless, her back turned to me on the other side of her and my fathers bed. She’s not moving, doesn’t even seem to breathing, as she stares out the window hopelessly, seemingly lost and in thought._

_I walk up to the edge of the bed, and hesitate for a couple of seconds, before deciding to climb up and touch her shoulder. She flinches for a second, shrugging my shoulder off. It is only then I hear her sniffling, and I realize that my mother is crying._

_Why would she be crying? My childlike brain is unable to process that the fight before my father walked out of the door was anything more than him simply being mad and leaving to clear his head for a few hours, like he always did those days._

_“Go away.” My mother whispers, barely audible. Her voice is weak as tries to talk through thick tear, starting to come down a little harder now._

_“Are you okay?” I ask again, wondering if I should really leave or not._

_“Arielle, please, I want to be alone. You understand that sweetie? Alone.”  She turns her head slightly to the side, and I can see her red-rimmed eyes and the tears clearly, finally registering that something was not right, as my mother turned around fiddling with my father’s locket._

_It’s the one she gave him on their first date, when they realized how much they loved each other and that they wanted to be together forever. He had worn it every day since, and so the idea that she was now wearing it instead scared me._

_“Mommy, stop crying. Why are you crying?” I ask, touching her shoulder again. She pushed my hand away again, her voice starting to rise._

_“Arielle, please just leave me alone.”_

_“But mommy-“_

_“ALONE.” The word is harsh, and cutting. It slices the air and she turns back around, staring out the window. I sit there, confused for a few minutes, not wanting to leave but not wanting to stay. My curiosity wins over however, and what happens next, has been etched into my memory forever._

_“Is this about daddy?”_

_The question stirs something inside my mom, an animal instinct and an anger I had never seen in her. She was always so gentle, so loving and kind, it was like a rabid animal fighting its way out of being caged for all its life._

_“SHUT-UP.” She cries, turning around and staring at me, angry and wild. I am taken aback and move backwards, to the middle of the bed. “How dare you speak of him, you ungrateful child!” She cries, tears streaming down harder._

_“Mommy, please. What happened to Daddy?”_

_“SHUT-UP! SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP!” She cries, clutching her head and trying to block me out. “Stop talking about him. You have no right! You and Jemmie, no right to speak of your father! You and Jemmie are both so ungrateful for EVERYTHING he’s ever done for you, and now he’s…he’s” She gasps for air, clutching her chest and leaning forward gripping the bed tight. At some point I had moved back farther, scared, and was now standing in front of the edge of the bed.  
“He’s gone…and he’s never coming back… because of _ you.” _She says this low, and evil full of hatred and malice as she stared at me like I had never seen her before. I had suddenly been reborn in her eyes as an enemy, something to hate._

_“Daddy’s gone…?” I whisper, tears starting form on the edge of my eyes._

_“Don’t you DARE!” She cries, slapping me across the face. “Don’t you dare pretend to cry, you never cared for him. YOU NEVER LOVED HIM LIKE I DID. And now…and now he’s_ gone _and it’s all your fault and oh god..” She gasped, and suddenly fell forward crying into the bed sheet. “He’s gone…he’s gone…” She mumbled this to herself, over and over again, gasping and crying. I stared, I didn’t know what to do, but run out of the room._

_And so I did._

_It was the last conversation I ever had with my mom before she left._

* * *

“Arielle?” Crystal asks this, and I snap out of my stupor as I hear the victor’s parade begin to start.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to do that. I think you have to go to your cart, the parades about to begin.”

“Oh.” She says freezing for a moment, deciding whether or not to say something. “Will we…will we talk again tomorrow, during training?” She asks, quietly, hopeful. At this moment she reminds me of Jemmie, the good in her bright and in my face and I soften.

“Yes. Now go, please, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  She nods and runs back, and I quickly step up onto the cart as Jemmie runs out with Tigris and Finnick trailing behind, Evanna for once not to be seen.

“Arielle look!” He cries, laughing and running up onto the carriage. He’s dress like a man from a shipwreck and I realize what we are: He’s the damsel, and I’m the hero.

I can’t help but laugh at this a little bit, before hugging Jemmie back.

“Arielle, you look BEAUTIFUL!” He cries, laughing and I smile.

“Thank you. You look handsome yourself.” I say this and bop him on the nose, before looking over at Finnick who seems calmer now and is even smiling a little bit at me.

“Not bad, Greene. Although imagine me wearing something like that? Well, let’s just say I’d rank higher than you in a contest.” He says winking and I roll my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had suddenly come in touch with your female side, Odair.” I laughed as he protested.

“I didn’t-“

“Didn’t you?” I ask, smirking, imitating him and giving him a wink back.

“Fair enough.” He smiles and suddenly he reaches up and hugs me intensely, before looking at me, completely serious.

“Good luck.” He says, staring me straight in the eyes.

“Thank you.” I whisper back, before he nods and strokes the horse’s mane, popping a sugar cube into his mouth.  Finnick always did have a thing for the sugar cubes.

The chariot lurches forward and we are suddenly out into the center of the walkway they have cleared for us, crowds on both sides and stands completely filled. The crowd is roaring, overly excited and enthusiastic at the sight of us. They throw things down, flowers, handkerchiefs. A couple land at my feet in the chariot, and I can’t help but smile and laugh, the euphoria taking over. I wave at the crowd, smile, blow a couple of kisses, while still holding onto Jemmie’s hand. Their impresses I can tell, completely in love with us tributes from District 4.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Chapter 4

_The air is crisp, cold, as it fogs my breath. It’s never cold in District 4, not unless you’re up at 4 in the morning, where the grass is still dewy and the sky is still nothing but starlight._

_It is one of those times. The streets are abandoned, everything is quiet, even the 4 am rush isn’t around to bother me and gain me suspicious looks. The gravel crunches under my feet as I pass under the gate, my hands in my pockets are still feeling the crumpled note in my hand, turning it over and over. I look around, wearily, my eyes tearing from the cold. I am in the victor’s village, searching, trying to tell the different colors of the houses in the dark._

_Their different than the ones you find in our district, even in the rich part of town. Unlike the stucco finish we always use here in our district because of the heat, the mansions that the victors live in are made with siding of bright colors of pinks, yellows, blues and greens. They’re all absolutely stunning and you would think that they would be easy to diverse between in the dark._

_They’re not._

_Finally my eyes land on the house; it’s a light sea-green with white columns, in the center. The one you see straight ahead on the pathway as soon as you enter the Victor’s Village._

_Of course Finnick would choose the one at the center of attention._

_I rush up to the house, my breath catching, my heart pounding faster as I lift the brass knocker and bang on the door._

_Please let him be home…_

_My mind thinks this before I quickly discard this; I had just seen Finnick yesterday taking a casual swim in the docks, so he couldn’t be at The Capitol at this moment._

_Five minutes pass, and my leg starts jiggling. I’m anxious as I see my breath fog, looking to the side of his house, at the mansions, wondering where which victor lived where._

_I knock again, and finally a light goes on in a window on the upper corner of the house. I sigh slightly in relief, composing myself, hoping that I can hold in all this emotion just a little longer. I hear feet run down the stairs, and the light in the windows besides the door goes on, and the door opens._

_“Who the hell is...Arielle?” He is shocked, his brow furrows as he sees my upset face, the dried tears on my cheeks and red nose, my freckles inflamed and more pronounced that happens every time I cry._

_“What happened.” He asks, but it’s not really a question. He’s already angry, assuming that either my mother had started talking again only to scream some form of abuse at me, or that Zhane or Khorr had started up their bullying of Jemmie again._

_“It’s…” my voice cracks and I look at the ground, trying to gain my composure. “This.” I finally manage to croak, and I hand over the paper that I had been twirling over and over in my hands._

_Finnick takes the paper out of my hands and reads it over slowly in the light, mumbling the words as he reads. I don’t need to hear it; I’ve already memorized it by heart, the shock of seeing it lying there on the bed when I went into my mother’s room this morning about having a bad dream, about the reaping that was going to take place today._

_‘Arielle,_

_I know you’ll read this first. I’ve left, in search of your father. Word is that he left to go back to his home District, and I can’t live without him._

_Mom.’_

_“That’s it?” Finnick says, finishing the letter, turning it over, holding it up to the light to try and see if he missed something. “No apology, just a goodbye? Oh Arielle I’m so sorry.” He says this, and bring me in to a hug, closing the door behind me._

_I cry at last, for a minute, before accepting that I never could have realized how far my mother had gone in the last two years without my father, and that her leaving us wasn’t my fault._

_I didn’t owe her anything._

_Still, I was scared, taking care of four younger siblings all on my own, including one that was mentally challenged was a scary idea and something that I wasn’t sure I could do._

_“Who do I do?” I ask, breaking the embrace, looking for his guidance._

_Finnick looks at me, brow furrowed, before tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and his response is simple, easy._

_“You fight.”_

* * *

 

When I wake up, I can’t remember how I got there.

I open my eyes to see the ocean on the wall on my right, the waves completely animated and pulling up and down on the shore. My back is stiff as I straighten up in bed and crack it, feeling the cool green silk of the sheets move with me. The pillow is comfy underneath my head, completely formless yet somehow perfectly shaped for it. A memory stirs as the fog slowly clears from my brain, and I remember the parade. The adoration of the crowd temporarily rings in my ears, the look of the President in person as he gave the Presidential speech, and as we pulled back into the hanger the stares of the other tributes, some approving and some envious. That is when we went into the elevator, Finnick pressing the button to go to the fourth floor, the place in which we were staying was arranged by our district he had told me. The elevator doors had opened and we walked into our floor.

It was beautiful, breathtaking, I had never seen anything so calm and serene. The walls were painted a sea-foam green, light and peaceful with wood floors that were a very light tan-beige color. Everything was laid out on one floor, on the far end to my left were blue and sand colored couch pieces and loveseats on a blue carpet. The wall there was made of some form of blue and white stone, to help with the TV projector I assumed. On my right there was the dining area, fully set to the brim of the long table with so many different types of food I barely knew what half of them were. There was nothing but glass on the wall in front of me, currently showing the outside world but Finnick told me that you could simulate any glass walls in here to project different images with a remote. The stairs were near the dining area, brown and without rails, which led to a balcony and our rooms. We had eaten with Finnick, Evanna, Iris, Jemmie’s stylist of which I did not know the name of, and the avoxes in their uniforms silently watching and serving, completely neutral. The idea of the avox and what they must be thinking every time a team of tributes comes and dines with them each year concerned me, and I thought it must be weird for them to cater to people who were most likely dead, only to see some of them come back the next year, completely changed and different from the games. The thought chilled me at the time, and we watched the parade afterwards, discussing the other tributes and whether Finnick thought they were competition sponsor wise.

That is when I went to be, and woke up now. The room I am in is adjourned with seashell pink walls, black flooring and the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on. The sound of the waves emanating from the wall to my left had helped me fall asleep as if I were lying in bed at home near the ocean, and had helped me forget  for at least a couple of hours the nightmare that I am currently in.

“Ari-elle!~” The voice chirps like a songbird that is three pitches to high, filled with artificial joy and energy. I groan and flop back on the bed as Evanna charges into my room, turning the ocean off on the glass walls causing the sunlight to stream in from the outside world, ripping the sheets from my bed off me, trying oh-so-hard to get my day started with me being pissed off.

“Up, up!~” She cries, shoving my arm before snap up and shove her off, glaring at her.

“Now now there’s no need to be like _that_ to me, save that attitude for the arena! Now Finnick sent me up here to tell you that you have training with the other tributes from 9 to 5, then you are to report back here to work on walking in heels and acting lady-like for your interview with Caesar in three days, then dinner and bed again before starting it all over tomorrow morning!~” She cried with a flourish as I rubbed my eyes sleepily and purposefully burped in her face.

She scrunched up her nose and waved the air in front of her before going through the dresser on the right to my bed and drawing clothes out. “Now I insisted to Finnick that you dress comfortably for the training so that you can show off your skill easier but he insisted that you wear something form fitted to show off your figure, apparently he has a whole plan of playing up your sex appeal that he apparently talked to you about. Here, go take shower and put this on then come down for breakfast, then we’ll walk you to the arena at nine. Hurry hurry!~”

I sighed as she thrust the clothes into my arms, glad to have her gone. I take a quick shower, drying my hair before putting it up into a high ponytail with my bangs hanging down on the sides, looking at the clothes that Evanna had handed me. The pants are form-fitting leggings, hugging my lower body completely ‘accentuating my curves’ as people would say I guess. The top is a blue tunic- like shirt, but instead of being automatically together, it has a button and a loop you attach it to so it stays closed. The shirt has a wide V-neck that outlines my chest, I look at myself in the mirror and roll my eyes, halfheartedly thinking that I should possibly be concerned with Finnick’s keen eye for showing off my figure.

When I go downstairs, the first thing I notice is the way they have dressed Jemmie. Just like they are trying to accentuate my attractiveness and maturity, Finnick seems intent on accentuating my brother’s disability and innocence to possibly get sympathy sponsors, which actually doesn’t seem like a bad idea. He is dressed in a t-shirt of some children’s show that I barely remember watching sometimes as a kid- when we actually able to afford a projector, and pajama bottoms, with his hair un-brushed.

The strange part about it, is that it actually suits Jemmie and his personality very well. 

* * *

 

The training arena is one of the most uncomfortable places that I’ve ever been.

Everything in there is cold, calculated, and made to pit everyone against each other.

We’re early as we arrive at the arena, the only tributes there beside us are the future Careers from 1 and 2.

They’re already training, lining up to use the different simulators that are available to show off their skills, using the standard intimidation tactic to try and influence the game makers before they give us our scoring.

The boy from 1, Galahad, is muscular with blonde hair and brown eyes, practicing hand to hand combat with the boy from two Andreov, who is much skinnier but taller and is able to move fast and deliver hard blows through calculated movements. The girl from 1, Moss, seems to be trying to take a hand at identifying different types of plants to plan her survival, but it doesn’t seem to be working out very well. She is tall, muscular, with dark hair and black eyes. She looks over at me as she walks away from the machine in defeat, glaring and looking my outfit up and down before smirking and walking over to the simulation area. She is wearing a tank top and leggings, much more suited for training than me.

The lack of strategy by the mentors catches me off guard a little in their clothing, they seem to be thinking that because they have tributes from 1, that they are most likely to win and don’t need to put in that much effort to impress the game makers.

“Arielle, what are they doing?” Jemmie asks me this, looking concerned and a little scared at the violence going on around us in the room. The girl from two was currently hacking away at a training dummy with her sword, screaming at the top of her lungs, her brown hair flying everywhere.

“Their training, honey. For the games.” I say this as the boys look over at me, looking me up and down before smiling, one of them winking, before taking a water break and starting again.

_“The male careers will most likely immediately want you to be a part of the pack because you’re good looking and you’re from four so you must be a good fighter. Show off a little bit, make them confused as to whether or not you want to form an alliance with them.”_

The advice from Finnick during breakfast rings in my head as I look around at the different training areas, the stealth net, the dummies, simulators, camouflage, survival, identifying plants. There is a variety of things that I want to experiment with, so many tests I should do because of things that I don’t know about, but only three days to learn enough before it’s just me and Jemmie alone in the arena trying to survive.

Trying to live.

I turn to my brother, looking up at him as he continues to study everyone confused. “Jemmie, listen to me. You remember what the Hunger Games are, right?”

He stares at me, confused, a painful memory surfaces, something vague flickers and he manages to nod silently.

“We’re going to be participating in the games in three days Jemmie. I need you to remember that, okay? I need you to go over to that training lady and ask her to help you in learning the ways of simple survival and identifying plants. Can you do that for me?” I ask him this, nervous, and for once in his very rare moments, he has a moment of clarity in which he understands what it is that I am saying and nods, walking over to the woman who helps people out with certain training areas.

I inhale deeply as I walk over to a simulation area, the one meant for knife throwing. While I know that it is unconventional to use knives when fishing, it was the way my father taught me, the way he  used to fish as well. He always said that knives were the best weapon because they were small, compact, easy to hide and fast enough that most of the time the fish wouldn’t even see them coming. ‘It takes skill to throw knives properly, to aim and get them where you want to go’, he used to say back when he tried to help and prepare me for the games even before I went to the special school. He wanted me to advance, he wanted me to have a fighting chance in case I ever got reaped for the games.

Which I did.

I step up to the wall beside the simulation area, the knives all on display. There must be at least 20 different knives to throw, some big, some smaller. Some meant for cutting, others to simply throw at someone else in effect that the trajectory of the speed will pierce someone’s brain.

_Pierce someone’s brain._

Had I really just thought that?

I shake the feeling of guilt off, in three days I would be in an arena forced to try and kill 23 other people to survive, if I didn’t start thinking like that now then when?

I grab four of each, putting on a belt that’s mean to holster some of the knives. I put the big ones there, meant for cutting, the ones that are hardest to hide. The others I place everywhere I can think to hide them, between the two straps of my bra, as many as I can on the inner layer of the boot, even managing to hide them underneath the upper layer of my leggings, before walking into the area and set up the simulation level. The simulated attackers are set up to be of all height and weight, giving myself a challenge by putting it on the highest difficulty setting. I can feel eyes on my back watching, waiting, and making me nervous as I hear other tributes start to enter the training arena, most likely from the lower districts. I breathe a deep sigh as I press the start button, going over and stepping into the center of the area, a platform forming and lifting me off from underneath, before the first simulation appears.

It is a hologram of some person, maybe another tribute from other games, big and stocky, running at me with his teeth barred and screaming, cut short as I throw a knife in his direction and his hologram disappears before others appear. I throw knives of all sizes as the holograms come at me from all angles, causing me to have to dodge, to roll around, to hope over holograms and mimic slitting their throats. Finally the simulation ends and I find myself slightly covered in sweat, out of breath, and successful in hitting all of my targets. I step off the platform, happily noticing I had only attracted the attention of the careers, game makers and Crystal.

_Crystal…_

I put the knives back, took the belt off and started to head in her direction, when the careers approached, circling me. Galahad is the pack leader, you’re typical career, the one who always makes plans and takes charge. He has his arms crossed, smirking at me, as if he’s 20 times smarter than me simply because he’s from District 1 and is a male.

“Nice throwing, red. You’re school taught you well.” His voice is surprisingly high for someone so muscular, nodding in approval as he looks me up and down.

I follow along, raising an eyebrow, popping a hip and leaning on it while looking him up and down as well, feigning being unimpressed.

“Something you want?” I ask, annoyed, looking at the other careers, especially the girls.

_Can’t they speak for themselves?_

“Names Galahad, from 1.” He says, putting his hand out to shake.

“I know who you are. I know who _all_ of you are.” I say, and he rescinds his hand quickly, smiling, he’s impressed I had bothered to learn.

“Then you know we’re the careers.”

“I do.”

“Now, normally you know it’s just 1 and 2 in the pack but sometimes” he circles around me, looking me up and down while doing so.

_Does he ever NOT check people out?_

“Four can surprise you. How old are you?”

“18. How old are you, 14?” I ask, winking. He’s obviously younger than me, someone who was very eager to come to this year’s games- and win.

He chuckles.

“16. Watched you’re reaping on the air. Nice _volunteering.”_ He sneers, and I glare, crossing my own arms and narrowing my eyes.

“What do you want with me, Galahad?”

“I want you to join the pack, Red.”  
I pause, staring at him, at the others. I know what I’m supposed to do, I’m supposed to be honoured that the careers are choosing _me_ of all people to join their ‘pack’, but all I can do is look him up and down and think I could never form an alliance with him and then have to try and kill him in the end.

_What about Jemmie?_

“No.”

He’s shocked, obviously not seeing me turning him down as an option. He laughs then, easily, guessing why I picked the answer. “Oh come on Red, I mean I get it, he’s you’re _brother_ , but we all know he’s not gonna make it. Wouldn’t it be _easier_ to just ditch him in the beginning of the games and have someone kill him in the bloodbath than traveling around with him in the arena, having to worry about him, and someone else _attacking_ you with you walking away and him dying right in front of your eyes?”

I scoff and push my way out of the circle, trying to train and wrap my head around the idea was hard enough but hearing it from this douchebag was something I wasn’t going to take.

“I said _no._ ”

He grabs my arm, gently bending down to whisper in my ear.

“Or let’s say you do protect him, and you live, killing everyone else. Who’s going to go, at the end, when they still need one more death? You? Or him? Killing your own brother? That’s a fate worse than death don’t you think?”

I lick my lips, looking down, smiling before walking away, annoyed.

I hear him sigh, before calling after me.

“The offer stands until scoring day Red! Make the right choice.”

_The right choice._

_How would HE of all people know what the right choice is?_

_Doucebag._

Crystal is still standing there concerned, watching my brother training with the woman on how to start a fire, create a trap, forage, identify plants, camouflage, all those things that he would need to know to help at least contribute to trying to live in the arena.

“Hey.” I say, nudging her as I sit down next to her, wiping my brow, finally acknowledging my fatigue.

“Hi…” She says quietly, looking around, anywhere but me.

I raise my brow, wondering...

_She doesn’t think..?_

“What’s wrong?” I ask, calm, neutral.

“Are you sure you want to be seen with a 12? You just got offered a place in the pack.” She scoffed, looking away, slightly annoyed, you can tell.

“Well I turned them _down_ if that means anything.” I get up, looking at her, as she finally turns to face me.

“Look, I don’t need you’re pity or whatever it was that you’re here to offer up. I’m _fine._ ”

I raise my eyebrows, my mouth slightly open.

_Is this the same sweet, innocent girl from last night?_

“I don’t pity you. I feel bad for you, there’s a difference.” I say and she narrows her eyes, looking straight into mine. She can’t tell, am I being sarcastic or sincere?

“Besides I like you, and I figure theirs something that we can achieve by helping each other out.”

She scoffs, unsure. “What would you possibly have that I want?”

I smile, nodding my head, assessing that she’s trying to be tough, not be another 12 tribute that we see every year.

_She’s acting…appeal to the girl you saw from last night._

“Look, I get the whole trying to look like a threat thing, but that only goes so far when you don’t _actually_ know anything about basic combat or survival skills. _I_ can teach you as much as possible in three days. Help you get a good score, show off to the other Districts that 12 can actually win, and not in a fluke.” I say this smiling, easing down my look.

She simmers down a bit, her guard disappearing, and I see a trace of that girl from last night, the one that wanted to talk to me because I looked familiar and familiarity can sometimes mean trust. “What would I have to do for you, in return?” She asks quietly, hoping it’s something she can actually do.

“All you’d have to do, is when we get in the arena, help me protect my little brother.”

She furrows her brow, not understanding. “Why would we need to help protect him, he’s a giant.”

_She doesn’t know...? Wouldn’t the Capitol…_

I straighten. The Capitol _wouldn’t_ broadcast the fact that they were sending off a mentally challenged kid off to the games to die now would they?

“He’s…He’s mentally challenged.  With autism. One of the four kids in the whole country, actually.”  
 I let my guard down as I say this, and her face softens, showing sympathy and understanding. Emotional trust with secrets always works in making alliances doesn’t it? “It’s going to be hard, in the arena, trying to protect him, and I’m a good fighter but struggling to stay hidden and alive while protecting him is going to be hard. So you know, if I helped shape you into a good enough warrior, you could help protect and watch out for him while I try to help us survive. We’d be a team.” I say this, smiling slightly, as I can see that I’m appealing to her softer and more understanding side.

“Okay?” I ask, putting my hand out to shake.

She hesitates, staring at it, wondering if when we shake it if I’m going to grip her in a headlock and make a fool of her or something like that.

“Okay.”

_Her grip? Stronger than it would seem._

* * *

 

“You made an ALLIANCE with 12?!”

It’s 8 pm, and I am currently lying on the couch, staring out the window with Jemmie and imitating the Capitol people and how silly and stupid we think certain ones would sound based on how they looked. His moment of clarity seems to have transcended into the late hours of the night, and I was enjoying the brief moment of maturity while I could.

I was sore, and covered with sweat from training with Crystal. I forgot how exhilarating training and keeping in shape could be, hand-to-hand combat, targeting, stealth training. The secrets to all of these I shared with Crystal hours on end, and she was actually pretty good, picking things up quickly, and even though she was so thin she could have easily been starving her whole life, she was strong in bone structure and managed to learn the weak spots of a person’s body so that she could take down someone like me much easier. During lunch we had teamed up with Jemmie, eating like pigs, everything, but keeping it healthy under my watchful eye. If we were going to work together, we would all be in the best shape that we could. The conversation had flowed easy, Crystal was a bright, likeable person once you got to know her, talking about herself and her friends with ease.

_“So how about your home life?”_

_“Nothing much to tell. My dad works in the mines, my mom’s a teacher at the school. It’s just me in their family, and truthfully they didn’t want to have any children and subject them to the games, but I happened anyway and they couldn’t afford to have to me stopped, so I was born. We don’t have much, but my dad tried to teach me the basics of understanding the difference in things like plants and stealth. He didn’t know much, but he knew enough I guess, in case I ever got reaped. Which I did.”_

_“So there was no one to volunteer?”_

_“Even if there was, I doubt my family would. It’s uncommon in 12, family offering to die for another. We all barely live to see another day, so why would we offer ourselves up to die, even if it was for family?”_

The answer had surprised me, but at the same time, it made me face my naïveté that Zhane or Khorr would have volunteered for Jemmie. Loyalty for a family can only go so far sometimes I guess…

Finnick stared at me, disappointed etched into his face and I sighed. I had changed into a t-shirt and green wrap with loose black pants, my hair in a messy bun off my face. I hadn’t bothered to take a shower, if we’d be training again and working just as hard tomorrow.

“Finnick I’m _tired_ can we talk about this tomorrow?” I ask, rubbing my eyes as Jemmie looked at Finnick, annoyed.

“What does it matter that we made an alliance with 12, she’s still a tribute, and she’s still going to help.” Jemmie said, mature, understanding, briefly  a man able to clear up his words and stand up for himself. The surge of confidence had me and Finnick stunned. Where had it come from?

“I can’t believe you two. I thought we had a deal Arielle, make a pact with the careers and then double cross them halfway through the games when the numbers got smaller, THAT was our strategy. Instead, I get in the elevator and theirs Haymitch drunkenly talking to me about how he’s pleasantly surprised that you have chosen _Crystal_  of all people to be in an alliance with and are now _training her._ What happens if you survive long enough to be some of the last people standing Arielle, what happens when she uses that training and familiarity of your fighting style to _kill you_?” He puts his hands on the edge of the couch, I’ve never seen him this mad, it was a little scary.

“The same thing could easily happen if I teamed up with the careers, Finnick. I’m having a hard time understanding what the difference is being teamed up with someone I _trust_.”

“Trust!” Finnick cries, laughing wiping his hair back and biting his lip. “You honestly have _no idea_ how naïve you can be sometimes do you?”

“Naïve? Oh sure because someone who’s had to act like a _mom_ half their life is naïve!” I cry, rolling my eyes and looking away.

“Just because you’ve had to be mature doesn’t mean you are Arielle! You never had a proper childhood so you never had the chance to truly grow up and learn that trust, is the _last_ thing you need in the Hunger Games. It gets you killed. The reason I wanted you with the careers is so that you’d be alert and on your toes, not _cozy_ and _lazy_ with a _friend.”_

“I made a promise Finnick, and I won’t go back on it, not now.” I grab Jemmie’s arm, and start to walk away, we’re halfway up the stairs when he calls.

“This isn’t just a place to make friends Arielle! It’s a game, you play, you can break a promise to someone easily and they’ll ultimately understand.”

“Or they’ll hold a grudge and make it their mission to kill you! I’m not going back on my word Finnick, that’s all.

* * *

 

“So...you’re saying the key to telling the difference between poison berries like night lock and the ones you want to eat like plum berries are in the juice color.”

The tone of disbelief in her voice makes me roll my eyes and laugh, we had been training together for two days already and somehow Crystal still found it in herself to find my smart little gimmicks hard to believe and even funny.

“Is it really _that_ hard to believe? I mean it makes sense, night lock has a more blue-black juice due to the poison, and plum berries have a more purple-ish color. That and the night lock juice is thicker, see?” I take both berries, both identical in their small, round, slimy texture and crush them, spilling the two different juices on my hands. I find it a little alarming that they would actually allow the tributes to work with real poison berries in the training area, but I figured they must be artificially made to look like the real thing while actually being harmless, I doubt the Capitol would ever take the risk of one of their tributes dying from training in the survival section.

_How ironic._

 The two days of training had flown by like crazy, and in the midst of it all I managed to find that Crystal was actually really good at fighting with a pick, the whole hack and slash motion fitting her easily, which was good because while I may be good at both, it was nice to know that in the arena I always had her hand-to-hand combat to rely on in the instance that we were attacked during the night in sleep or snuck upon.

The amount of muscle someone could form in two days astounded me, with the right eating and training, she had already gained a steady set of muscle. It made me wonder whether she had been lying about her starvation back in 12 at first, but when I asked, she had said that apparently her stylist always gave the prep team permission to inject some sort of muscle enhancer during the first day here at the Capitol, so that if you put in the right training you would get two times your weight in muscle by the end of the third day. The results were stunning, Crystal was already much stronger, with a small 6 pack forming, and for once, it made me thank the Capitol for all its superficiality.

Jemmie seemed to be advancing as well, Crystal’s weakness was stealth, and that was something that Jemmie had in common with her. His clarity had continued, although not as mature as the first day, but enough to advance to the basics of camouflage and hiding, something he would need in the arena.

I knew though, that the chances of his clarity continuing into the arena though were slim, the odds seemed most likely that he would be shocked back into his autistic state as soon as the cannon went off seemed more likely than not.

The bell rang, it was lunch, Crystal and I got up and grabbed Jemmie from the stealth nets. I let him train on his own a lot because in his sudden new maturity, he wanted the help of a professional more than a doting sister.

We collected our food, the usual starches and green salads, the perfect brain food to stay healthy and in shape, and walked to our usual table all the way in the back.

The conversation was normal, it was light, flowed, a fun break from the usual training. I knew we should have been talking strategy, but everything with Crystal came so easy that most of the time, I forgot that I was a tribute in the games.

The table shifted as someone sat down, and I looked away from Crystal to see Galahad sitting right there, across from me, arms on the table and a look on his face that was supposed to be nonchalant and cool.

“Third day Red, judgment time in a few hours. What’s it gonna be? The pack or these sorry losers you call alliance members?” He smirked, like he was funny, like I wasn’t going to shoot him down a second time.

I decide to toy, to play; Crystal hated them as much as I did and wanted to see them squirm as much as me.

“If I say yes, would you allow Crystal and Jemmie to be a part of the pack as well? Cause that’s the only way I’m joining.” I say, leaning over on my arms. Today I’m wearing a gray crop top and plain black legging, standard training boots. My boobs are hanging out slightly as I do this, and I see Galahad’s eyes travel down quickly before coming back to look me in the eyes and smirking.

“Say yes, and not only will they be in, we’ll protect them, no matter what.” He leans in closer to my face, his features strong, I can see the freckles splayed across his nose clearly. “What do you say?” He whispers.

_Is this supposed to make me attracted to him?_

“I say…” I whisper back, leaning in even closer.

“No.” I stare him straight in the eye, stone-cold, leaning back. “This is my alliance and this is where I’m staying. Learn to take no for an answer, 1.”

Galahad nods, his lips turning into each other before he slams his hand down on the table in anger, getting the attention of everyone else in attention hall who wasn’t already watching.

Jemmie jumps back, Crystal glares, but I manage to remain neutral, unsurprised.

Cold.

“Fine. But know this, _Red;_ as soon as we’re in that arena, we’re hunting you down first. We’re going to kill you’re little friend here, then you’re brother. And after making you watch, we’re going to lug you around making you kill people for us. Then, after I kill everyone else in the pack, I’m gonna kill _you,_ nice and slow. The last, final kill of the games.”

He walks away, the other tributes go back to their food slowly, and everything calms down.

“Doucebag…” I mumble going back to my food.

“Do you think he means it?” Crystal asks slowly, cautiously. It only occurs to me now that she’s more worried, scared more than I am. She had grown a lot in the past three days that I forgot she could be a scared little mouse about things.

“Well I mean, of course he means it, but we’re not going to let him do that, I promise. I’ll kill him before he even makes ten steps towards me in that arena as soon as I get a knife.” The words come out harsh, bitter, and I pause, realizing that this was the first time that I had ever discussed about killing someone in the games. It felt wrong, but at the same time, it felt right.

It felt like a solution.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! It's been long guys, REALLY SORRY but I got so caught up with rehearsals for the school show and finals and HOMEWORK that there was literally no time for anything other than eat, rehearse, do homework, sleep. I mean normally, I have crazy rehearsals but being a lead AND a dancer in the show is always a double whammy that is hard to juggle so sorry about that. If this chapter seems disjointed, it's because I have been working on it for the past three to four months since the last time I posted, so it may be a little weird. Don't worry, I proofread enough to make sure that my first chapter back in the story would be shit so we're good to go!~ I hope you guys enjoy, frequent (as frequent as I can anyways) chapter updates from here on out!~
> 
> -Miyou

Chapter 5

I am restless.

_“When the countdown ends take Jemmie and run away from wherever the cornucopia will be. Stop after around 10 minutes of running.”_

I throw the silk sheets off of me, my heart pounding into overdrive. My face, my neck, my legs, everywhere is hot. It makes me miss the cool breeze, the ocean.

It makes me miss home.

_“I’ll run into the bloodbath, I’m quick, good at darting between things. I’ll grab us two packs, a case of knives, anything that could be useful. I’ll meet up with you based off of where you ran. We’ll meet up, and try and survive from then on.”_

Did I even know what that meant anymore? Maybe a week ago I could have easily said 4 was my home. But with the luxuries of the capitol, the people I was meeting, actually having a _friend,_ made it all different.

It was easy to forget what home felt like, because the capitol could have easily become my new home. Even though it had only been 3 days, the accents, the cuisine, the training and the different people and their cultures had become normal to me.

At the thought of the ocean however, my senses heightened, my muscles relaxed and I could hear the waves in my head and I remembered that _this_ was home.

_But was it really?_

I shake the thought; I’m still energized, completely awake and conscious in my head. The fourth day was officially alive and here at 2 in the morning. I had barely slept, a few fits in and out of consciousness coming my way.

The dreams however, were horrible.

They were all the same, in the sense they took place in the arena, in the midst of the games, and always ended whenever I died.

Beheaded, drowned, slowly tortured, my brain had held no mercy every time I had gone to sleep for 20 minutes, if I was lucky, an hour. Now of course, I could not sleep at all, it was impossible with my mind racing and reeling, ready and completely unconfident at the same time about the judging that was going to happen in a few hours- and hoping to all hopes that I could get a decent score somewhere in the regions of 9 to 12.

But of course, when do they ever give out 12s?

Hours have passed, and I’m standing outside, still in my silk robe, the balcony offering up some privacy as a cool summer breeze comes towards my way. I sigh and close my eyes, feeling it pass through me, invigorate me, waving my hair back and if I smell hard enough I can smell the sea salt in the air, and the ocean is in my head, my body, my mind.

Before the Capitol, I had never thought about how much the beautiful being of salt water was a part of my life. How I thrived for it, it woke me up in the morning and put me to sleep every night. It was my form of relaxation and comfort when I needed a peace of mind; it was a way to interact with other people from my district and even the way that I made my income, the way I had learned to fight. Back in District 4 it has just seemed like another living breathing part of the district, but now here in a full city filled with skyscrapers and loud cars and people with ridiculous cultural phenomenon’s around every corner, it was a part of me that I had taken for granted and gotten used to.

The sunrise was beautiful, the low hum of the force field to keep tributes from jumping off alive and real, reminding me where I am.

The sun rising, marking the Day of Judgment seemed so strange. The orange glow, the sky going from black to blue, it all seemed so peaceful and natural, that the day of judgment couldn’t possibly be today, because it was the only day that had actually seemed semi-normal since I arrived.

There was a step, a rustle of trees, and then suddenly I wasn’t alone.

I could hear a sigh, a tousle of hair and I already knew who it was, coming to check up on me, like always.

_A friend._

But was he still a friend? At this point it was hard to tell, how could I possibly know whether I would be talking to Finnick the friend or Finnick the mentor this morning, especially since last time, that fight, going against his plans. He had been distant for a little while, sulking, not talking and I thought he would ignore me as long as he could before he’d have to apologize and say goodbye- right before I went into the arena.

He’d obviously changed his mind.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes.” I responded, distant, I still hadn’t turned around.

I was still mad.

“It’s early.”

“I noticed.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you _up,_ Ari?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” The term caught me by surprise, he hadn’t called me that since we…well _I_ was a kid, and to hear him say it now, I knew he was sorry, his way of apologizing.

Finnick had never been good at all that heart-to-heart shit.

“You’ll do fine you know, you’ve got personality.”

“You mean my curvy body? Thanks.”

I guess I still wasn’t ready to forgive him on that front.

“Be mad all you want, it’s still a good play, _strategy._ ”

I huff, look down, and notice for the first time in a while the pendant that I am wearing.

Old, family jewelry, along with the few dresses that my mother had kept from back in the days when her mother was still alive and had all her money to spend from winning the games. It was a gift for my birthday, all the way back when I turned five, a necklace of stained glass creating a mermaid purple tail and blonde hair. While it may not look like me, the gift meant the world to my mom and I had kept wearing it, to this day.

I don’t hate my mom, the way I hate my father, while she may have hated me out of weakness in thinking she deserved a love like my dad’s somehow I couldn’t muster up enough strength to hate her in the same way. So I still wear this necklace, as a token of her, and now as a token of the district where I come from.

“She would be proud, you know, of the way you’re handling everything. If she weren’t clouded by crazy judgment of course.”

I could hear the chuckle of course, and mumbled a ‘yea’ before sniffing and looking over at him.

He was strange, for the first time ever he didn’t look…well good. He was tired, gaunt, circles underneath his eyes. His tan was fading slightly, leading to a lighter brown, and there was no makeup on his face, his hair flat and un-styled. He was wearing simple cotton sleeping pants and a t-shirt. For the first time he looked like a normal human being, and I was reminded of the human Finnick Odair that had been like my big brother all these years.

“Hey look…I’m sorry, about the 12 thing…Okay?” He asks, running his hand through his hair.

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the sunrise, the smell of the ocean, the memories that come with the necklace, or the fact that in one day, I will be in an arena fighting to the death to win some stupidly warped competition, but I run over and hug his middle. He’s taller than me, and caught by surprise, before hugging me back, kissing the top of my head. It’s been a while since we had a moment like this, when we finally _connected_ on an emotional level and understood where the other was at at that moment.

“Hey listen…its okay. You and Jemmie…you’ll both be fine, I know it.” He says, and for the first time…

I cry.

I cry hard, I haven’t cried in years, too busy wrapped in my own whirlwind of taking care of everyone else but me, of having to deal with all the hate and judgment because of my brother, my sweet and innocent little brother. I cry for people like Galahad that exist, because of this new persona that I am developing now because of the games; and because of the arena that I was being forced into. It all came crashing down, like a huge tidal wave of emotions, feelings, as big as the wave crashing against the shore near my house on high tide.

“We’re being unrealistic Fin, about all of this, the arena. I’m not…I’m not strong enough to take care of myself and Jemmie in there. And if we make it…who will die? W-who will I…?” I stop, gasping, crying harder and Finnick doesn’t say a word, he’s quiet, calculating, stroking my hair.

“It’ll all work out in the end.”

* * *

 

The waiting room is cold.

Not just in feel, either, though that has a lot to do with it. The walls are metallic, gray. We sit on wire-mesh benches, stiff and freezing all bunched in the same room together. Nobody talks, brief snippets of conversation here and there, but once a steady hum begins to form the careers silence it with a look, a comment, a move. Strategy is all they seem to think about, and if they must be obsessed with it, then the rest of the tributes have to follow.

I look over and see Crystal, she’s nervous, biting her lip. She picks at the skin of her right wrist whenever she’s nervous or thinking. It was one of her many quirks; happy, nervous, sad-she always had something that would tell you how she was feeling if you knew her well enough, and I guess by now I did.

I nod at her, shooting her a look that hopefully she’ll read as ‘calm down’, and she slowly nods back at me, nervous. Her eyes are wide, a pale gray and I can see she’s sick from anticipation. The boy from 12 next to her, Ross, dark hair and thin as a bone puts his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. It only strikes me now that she would actually have any affiliation with her tribute, and it makes me wonder why he didn’t try and train with us as well.

The more people to try and help defend my brother, the better.

Jemmie is quiet, looking around at how tense everyone else is.

Confused, dazed, unable to understand completely what is going on, I’m nervous the highest he’ll ever get on the score is a 3.

_How will that help with sponsors?_

A door closes, and the boy from 3 walks back in, gangly and thin-muscled with glasses, he looks confidant. Like his brain may actually overpower brawn for once in the games.

_“Arielle Greene.”_

It’s scraggly, the speaker, as it calls my name.

Everyone stares, Galahad looks at me licking his lips, daring me to change my mind in these last few seconds before my actions determine my score.

Crystal nods slowly, as I look at her, before sighing, steeling my eyes and moving my head in an assertion of preparation before walking into the corridor that will lead me to my fate as to whether I will live or I will die.

I am nervous, afraid; every single bad thought that could possibly run through your head before this ‘audition’ play through my eyes like a relay of my life. The walls are closing in, my steps echo on the metal walls and my breathing get louder shallower. Before I know it, I stop, clutching myself as I become sick on the left side of the hall my breakfast falling out fast and painful. I grip the wall, wiping the sweat away from my forehead. I close my eyes and think of the ocean, the smell of the sea.

I think of home, of a time forgotten when my mother would sing me to sleep with old hymns that are as ancient as my district itself, a flowery type of song of summer rains and sweet grass.

I steel myself and manage to finally make my way into the room.

I’m ready.

It’s quiet, I’m lucky to be from four because I get the judges while their still fresh, awake and expecting something impressive.

They are all staring, waiting, looking at me from head to toe. I had gone for a more tribute based look, despite Finnick’s sex appeal angle I want to actually be a human being getting a grade on my talent for a knife, not because I’m some pretty sassy girl from the fishing district.

High ponytail, t-shirt and leather pants that would help me move, I nod at them deciding no need to announce myself.

They know who I am.

The rules are of course to choose the weapons of your choice, I look around and there it is.

They seem to have laid out a special section for me from my earlier showings of talent, for the rack is bigger than in the training area, offering a wider array of knives with more small ones the ones I use most.

I walk over-grabbing as many tiny ones as I can, putting on the belt that offer. I take more than needed of course, doing my usual hiding places- boots, bra straps, inner pockets of the pants that I’ve made myself. I turn to the training dummies, hearing the judge’s move forward as their chairs creak, their eyes boring into my back as they wait in anticipation for me to throw.

I rise.

And then I freeze.

I think of the other tributes, the careers specifically who see my talent for knife-throwing and have probably tried to one-up me already through showing their talents in the same field on their own. And I realize if I’m going to make an impression, to prove myself to be different, I’ll have to use something else.

My stealth.

I put the knife back in its holster and look to see the lack of a force field, trusting these judges seem to be of their tributes. I know there’s a risk in what I’m about to do, but I don’t care.

I go back into the wall where it’s hard to see me and climb up onto the net, I hear them stir quietly as I move fast, looking to see where I am. The net goes up onto the ceiling, and I get a good angle before I hang by my feet throwing two knives into two different judges food before I move around more, throwing an arrow past one’s head, it skimming right before his eyes and landing in the wall with the thrust that caused the knife to wobble from side to side with the power. I would have stopped there, should have stopped there. But something awoke within me through my demonstration. I forgot about my job, my need to try and save my life by getting a good score and all I could do was look at the head game maker with hatred, smiling looking around with anticipation of my next move and see the murderer of all of those innocent children from the lower districts who half of them would not be able to get any more than a 7.

I ran, putting my feet right through the rungs, flipping around to hang upside down above the game makers head. I sat there, quietly for few seconds before dropping down, my heart thumping, sweat slicking my hands as I went behind him and put a sword up to his throat.

They gasped, most going back; I could hear the peacekeepers going to hold their guns. The game maker however, slight as he was, put his hand up to stop, not saying a word.

And then he laughed.

He laughed, long and hard and wheezing, not caring that the knife was still pressed against his throat, and I couldn’t help but hear the laughter ringing in my ears, disorienting me until I let go, jumping down the platform to face him from the ground.

He was hunched over, finally free, the laughter ending, and before he could look up I pretended to laugh to after the cold hard severity of the reality of what I had done faced me. Better to play a crazy tribute than give snow anymore reason to have my head…

“Impressed?” I asked, smiling crookedly, out of breath.

“You are a… _fascinating_ woman, Ms. Greene.” He whispered, looking at the peacekeepers, the other game makers, who were smiling at him faintly. “Fascinating…” he said again, before looking at me dead cold, wiping the smile from my cheeks.

“Now leave.”

I narrowed my eyes as we stared each other down, his cold calculating glance studying my every move, waiting for my reaction.

And I knew he would make my life hell in the games.

* * *

 

I hadn’t seen anyone in hours, biding my time with only Evanna, a welcome distraction from the wrath of Finnick, her blabbing on about her fancy gowns and the way to impress Caesar Flickerman in the interview that I was going to do tomorrow.

Personalities, personalities, personalities…

That’s all she would rave about for those hours, me half-listening, mumbling words of agreement and putting on a fake persona whenever she wanted to ‘practice.’ That’s all we seem to be to the capitol audience anyway, sacks of meat with phony smiles and the best personalities worth betting on.

The scores would be aired in 10 minutes. I hadn’t even asked Jemmie had done, hadn’t thought to prep him for the audience he was about to receive after my little show. The retarted brother of Arielle Greene performing some weak camouflage tricks after her sister had just tried to murder the head game maker?

_Fascinating indeed._

And Crystal…The name was like a stab, a pain, a knot, a cup of coffee on the early morning docks, the bite of the fresh sea air as you rolled out to sea, a split in the stomach from a man so terrible he would have you murdered by an innocent boy when placing you in an arena with 24 children trying to survive.

I took a breath, before knowing that she would have done well, I had made sure that she had been trained properly by my hand, my influence.

And unlike me, she was a coward enough to do anything to survive.

A knock.

“The scores are about to air.”

Evanna gasps and claps her hands, jumping into the air. “Ah yes I had almost forgotten! Come, come! Time to see how well you’ve done.” She grabs me by the arm and thrusts me out of the room, down the wooden stairs and onto the sandy couch, the projector up and humming silently as Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are smiling their dazzling teeth at some horrible joke, ready to begin the scoring.

I sit down on the couch, Jemmie snuggling up to me, putting my arm around him. I had realized that today I was mum, the one who has always been there to take care of him and no one else. I doubt he even remembers anyone but me and Crystal at this moment.

Finnick is on the other end, giving me a stare, but unlike the coldness I expected it is pleased in a half-smile his approval shocking me that I miss the beginning of the scoring only hearing the numbers for Districts 1 and 2.

“9, 10, 8, 9.” That’s all I hear before I look at the screen and wait silently for the scores of 3.

The boy from 3’s face is shown, light and redheaded with freckles, unsmiling. He had looked confidant when he had walked out of that room, and now it was time to see if that confidence was honest and real.

“6.”

I raised my eyebrow in surprise, half a smirk rising in my lips.

So much for natural confidence.

The girl, brown haired and mousy was next, I swallowed, this girl was one away between me and my score and I envied Crystals ability to go last.

“8.”

Surprised but not in shock, my heart thumping as they showed Jemmie’s face and the number was soon to appear.

“5.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, a 5 for a mentally challenged boy with the abilities in trapping and slight camouflage was better than a 2 or a 3, it made him look like he at least knew how to do something,

which he did.

My face appeared, I looked stoic and made up, the picture looked like the I.D. they have for me under the special training school retina scan they do before you enter.

I remember taking that picture; my father had been coaching me on the right way to pose in case they ever used it if I were to ever enter the games.

The seconds tick away, and everything runs slow, dragged.

Sweat pools on my skin, nervous breath stinking up from the my diaphragm, my heart beats 20 times faster as Finnick looks at me and then looks back at the screen, before the score is announced.

“10.”

They cheer.

Evanna, Finnick and Iris get up, clapping, a strong opponent in their midst.

I know what you’re thinking- why would we be as worried as to what a district 4 tribute might score? The truth it, District 4 tributes were always a chance to bet on, some were great- excelling in the special training offered to the district kids, wanting to volunteer and bring honor to their family. But then there were the other kids while still wanting to volunteer, did not exactly in 

the fighting department.

So, never really knowing how one from my district would be graded, a 10 is excellent, up there with the careers.

We celebrate Finnick popping open a fizzy purple drink that looked like stars and tasted like a beautiful floating sky.

We leave the TV on, listening to the other scores, I protested to turn it off wanting to see what Crystal would get so that I would know whether my training had paid off, and she was still a good choice for an ally.

District 12, her face flashes, gaunt and pale with blonde, looking like she did back when I first met her versus now, muscular and thicker, much better fed.

“8.”

I look at Finnick, and he looks at me, shocked as Caesar and Claudius wrap up the scoring, Caesar expressing excitement for the interviews that would take place tomorrow.

Finnick breaks out into a small smile, as if saying ‘well done’, squeezing my shoulder, picking Jemmie up who had fallen asleep on the couch and taking him up to bed.

I stay awhile, staring into space, thinking over the scores.

_An 8.  
_ While not particularly good in the long haul, an 8 was outstanding for District 12 tribute, known for their constant 4’s the highest they ever get being 6’s. I guess this was a sign that things were changing, and that finally a District 12 might have a chance to win.

Too bad I was going to kill her first.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The feast that we are attending on this morning, the biggest of all, is massive.

I have never had the luxury of sitting in front of something so grandiose that it takes my breath away, completely. The once beautifully decorated glass table is covered in all the assortments of food that you could possibly think to exist in this world. So many combinations, pastes, drinks, hot and cold. The room right now is an assortment of steaming smoke from just cooked foods to ice cold dishes, dripping from condensation.

It’s a wonder that we can see anything past the food, but everyone is here. Finnick, Evanna, Iris, Crystal, Jemmie, even a few of my friends from the docks are sitting around sloshing drinks over the floor in raucous toasts. Their plates are stuffed to the brim with food, the sounds of teeth smashing against oils and bones as they eat, yet the food on the table seems to stay the same.

I laugh, a purple bubble rising from my mouth to the ceiling, dancing with the others up there. I grab a drink- it is bright fuchsia and tastes like a cannonball, making steam come out of my ears. The guests all cheer, clapping like I just performed a party trick, before slapping a new one in my hands. A black one that tastes like sadness forces me to suddenly break into comic tears, like in a old cartoon without any words.

Another, another, another, the drinks are being passed around like a circus act, all of us cheering as they cause a range of actions from us anywhere from an irish jig to a yodeling serenade.

POP.

We all scream as the dancing purple bubbles pop around us, covering everything with their juices. The food wilts, decays, covered in maggots and smell of rotten insides.

The walls start creaking turn grey, as everything is ice cold, and I look around and everyone is gone.

Everyone except him.

President Snow, in all white, a red rose blooming from his coat pocket like blood stands before me.

A spotlight is shining on his face, making his his features jagged and estranged, the makeup around his eyes and lips overly-pronounced in black and red.

A skeleton figure more than man, he walks forward, sitting down across from, as my blood turns to ice.

I am glue, melting into the chair, slowly, as chains appear around my hands and tie me to the table. I struggle, but a laugh just escapes snow’s lips. This one is different though, it’s wrong- black with specks like stars litter it, and instead of flying it sinks into the ground, leaving a rotten stench in the air.

Everything about Snow is pollution, his flesh even seems to be done with him, slowly peeling off of his face, as he scratches an itch on his forehead.

“Ms. Greene, do you know why you are here?” He asks me, his voice not his usual low bass but something like a squirrel, high and wrong- strained, choking.

I giggle at the voice, purple bubbles once again popping into existence, but before they can dance, a blonde peacekeepers shoots them at once.

I snap my head in his direction, but no matter how hard I squint, his face remains distant and in a shadow.

“This is not a laughing matter Miss. Greene. Do you know why you’re here?” The squeak once again makes me want to loose myself in purple bubbles, the fear of another gunshot keeps me calm and serene.

“To do you’re housekeeping?”

I smile sarcastically as I say it, even if it’s definitely not one of my wittiest comebacks.

“Think hard, Miss. Greene, you know who that peacekeeper is. He is why you’re here. If you can figure him out, you can solve the puzzle.”

I hear a thump of footsteps, as the peacekeeper, heavy in his boots approaches me.

Closer and close, the shadow starts to life from his face and I start to see the strong features that he owns. He looks familiar, with his long blonde hair and intense eyes, his skin is like milk and I don’t understand the sense of fear and anger that I get when I see him- as if I’ve met him before and it was the most traumatic experience of my life.

And then I see, it’s my father.

I shoot up, a knife is suddenly handed to me by Snow, whose face is now half bone from his constant scratching and peeling- peeling and scratching.

As I point my knife blade at him he smiles, sinister, making ice shoot down all the way into my core freezing everything in my entire body.

As he moves closer his face begins to melt, like wax, pooling onto the floor another face replacing it, tho sone younger and female.

Someone I currently know.

“Whats the matter?” My father starts to say, even though he isn't really my father anymore, his voice becoming higher pitched as he continues talking.

“You don’t even recognize your own pupil?”

His eyes become wide, beautiful, with long blonde hair, and a thin yet newly muscular body.

The girl is now dressed in tribute uniform, a 12 on her chest, a pickaxe in her hand.

I start to recognize Crystal when she swings her axe right at me.

* * *

 

 

It’s 8 A.M.

The feast in front of me is nothing like my dream from last night, instead of smoke and steam and elaborate looking plates of food that represent peace and tranquility, I feel like an animal being prepared right before they are sent to the slaughterhouse.

The fish that I am currently poking around instead of eating, it’s dead eyes stare right up at me into my soul, almost a reminder as to what will happen to me in half an hour.

I still remember the dream, Crystal’s pickaxe swinging into my head with a large crunch, the impact reaching all the way down into my spine.

I didn’t understand, what was my subconscious trying to tell me?

While Crystal possibly being a love child of my father after he left us is something I could accept: her quiet demeanor, her almost exact sharp features making her beautiful like he is handsome. It seemed to me that my brain has been trying to point this out to me for awhile.

But the end, with the death, it was almost like a warning, and I can’t help shake the feeling that it was more than just a nightmare of what would happen if me and Crystal made it to the end of the games together, or if it something more, an underlying part of her that I could never know.

I shake that thought quickly as I remember who Crystal is, the scared little mouse with an odd sense of humor and the most truthful person I have ever met.

I laugh at myself, my dreams are nothing more than silly little fears brought on by the games and the capitol.

So why am I so scared?

* * *

 

It’s 10 A.M.

 

I have been separated from the pack, alone in a cold, stale room with nothing but a tube that will take me to the arena, where I will live until I either die or win the Hunger Games.

I haven’t changed, Iris will soon arrive with my gear that everyone will be wearing in the arena, a vital clue as to what I will soon be enduring.

I run over the plan once again in my head, drilling it in because once we are in the arena, there is no room for any form of error or mistake.

_“When the countdown ends take Jemmie and run away from wherever the cornucopia will be. Stop after around 10 minutes of running. ’ll run into the bloodbath, I’m quick, good at darting between things. I’ll grab us two packs, a case of knives, anything that could be useful. I’ll meet up with you based off of where you ran. We’ll meet up, and try and survive from then on. Try to run left, enough miles that people will give up and no longer think it’s worth if following you, when the games start out, everyone’s out to get supplies or take out the easy ones first. 10, 20 miles should suffice, so once I get our stuff I’ll the same way until I find you. DON’T MOVE. If you hear someone coming, hide in the trees if there are any. Snow banks you can bury yourself under for a little while, or if there is a cave nearby hide there and check to see whose coming every once in awhile. I know it’s a lot of information, but this is the best way to keep you and Jemmie safe while I get everything else.”_

_“But what if you die?”_

I remember, I had paused, musing, but I had been completely sure just as I am right now. 

_“I can’t, I have way too much to live for.”_

A knock, and the door opens, Iris stepping inside.

She has a tail now, blue with black polka dots, like some acid-infused cheetah.

A black bag covers the clothes that I’m so anxious to see, if it’s long sleeved with layers that means cold, if it’s themed, it means it will a sporting event probably from some type of history that most people don’t even know about anymore.

They can’t afford to teach very old history in the lower districts.

Iris hangs up the clothes, the black bag menacing like a mouth about to swallow me whole.

Iris looks at me, her tail flicking in some type of undefinable emotion, taking a few moments to draw it out before unzipping the bag.

It’s all neutral toned, what looks like at least four pieces to the outfit.

I stand up as Iris helps me put on the pieces, and then stare at myself in the mirror.

A white tank top, thick striped is my base shirt, but underneath I have been supplied with a sports bra long enough to be its own shirt. I wear a light pink tie top over it, allowed to be buttoned up and long sleeved if needed, but for now it is rolled up halfway and tied together right below my chest.

Wide legged, neutral toned pants with a black belt are what I am required to wear. But the zipper around the upper thigh area shows that the pants can become shorts if needed. A brown jacket with lots of pockets is over everything, comfortable and form fitting but really think and warm. Paired with brown hiker boots that go up to my knees, I look at the outfit, and when Iris places a few hair ties around my wrist I know.

The arena will most likely be safari themed.

“I convinced the clothes makes to place in-laid pockets on some of the clothes- the inner of the jacket and tie shirt, and pants are all capable for hiding knives. Considering how impressed the game makers were with your performance, it wasn't hard to convince them to make special arrangements for you. You’re lucky the game makers like you.”

I nod, tying my hair up in a high pony tail, my bangs hanging off the side of my face, as I breathe in and out.

Safari means hot days and cold nights, limited water supply, big trees and tall grasses with large mountains and caves.

I can do this, I know I can. I nod at myself in the mirror sizing myself up.

The announcer comes on, cold and calculative, automated.

I think of Crystal and Jemmie, hoping that they are trying their hardest to be steady and calm as I am, because we have to be ready for whatever they throw at us.

“The Hunger Games will be starting, Tributes please enter the arena.”

I breathe in and out, and step into the tube.

The door startles me as it closes, a fast swoosh behind me as the countdown begins.

20

19

18

17

16

15

14

13

12

11

10

9

“Arielle! Be smart!”

Iris screams this, and I look at her.

8

7

6

5

4

She becomes serene, dark and calculative.

“And don’t die.”

3

2

1

* * *

 

 


End file.
